


340 Ravens

by LadyEm



Series: Tales of the West and of the North [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Sansa not creepy child bride, F/M, Happy Ending, Jaime and Brienne are in the background this time, Letters, North, Ravens, Rebuilding, Romance, Tyrion is both snarky and petty, no graphic violence or assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-09-07 14:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 32,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyEm/pseuds/LadyEm
Summary: A continuation of my post-canon fix-it, _A Second Chance_, focusing on Sansa and Tyrion. Do not read this summary if you don’t want to be spoiled for that fic!!After an early relationship that may or may not have been purely physical, Sansa and Tyrion fell deeply in love and were married in the Sept at King’s Landing, shortly after Bran’s coronation. Immediately afterwards, Sansa returns to Winterfell, where she sets about governing as Queen In The North. Tyrion must remain in King’s Landing as Bran’s Hand for six moons – 168 days, he has calculated – before he can travel to Winterfell to take up his role as Sansa’s consort.This fic also features an established relationship and marriage between Jaime and Brienne, but it is largely incidental to this storyline.





	1. Tyrion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of where everyone is at this point, if you haven’t read/ don’t remember A Second Chance. Jaime and Brienne are leaving for Tarth, to be wed, and from there they will travel to Casterly Rock to take up their reign. Sansa is en route to Winterfell. As for our other Starks, Bran is the High King in King’s Landing, Arya is travelling West of Westeros to find herself (but with an intent to return at some time), and Jon is in the North, probably beyond the Wall. Dorne, the Vale, the Iron Islands, the North and the West are now independent kingdoms under the High King in a united Westeros. The Reach, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands are Crownlands ruled by Lords Protector – Bronn, Edmure Tully, and Gendry Baratheon, who is headed to Storm’s End with Ser Davos. This story starts after chapter 48 of _A Second Chance_. 
> 
> It is two days after Bran’s coronation, and Sansa has just sailed for the North. Tyrion calculates it will be 167 days before he is free of his obligation to Bran and to King’s Landing.

It took seven days for a raven to reach Winterfell, Tyrion estimated, and a further seven for a raven to return to King’s Landing. Add in three weeks for Sansa to reach Winterfell – and that was if her journey went well, and they took the best route – and it would be a full moon before he could hope to hear any response to his letters. A gift – whether sent by road or by sea – would require at least as long just to move in a single direction. He would write, of course – had already written twice before he knew that Sansa would stay and then again when first she left – but must also be conscious that a raven was scarcely private, and that their correspondence would necessarily be both brief and interrupted.

They had promised to look to the stars after dusk and think of each other, and he did that tonight, tears in his eyes, on his cheeks, and in his heart. He thought of the wife he had met so long ago but had known for such a short time, of the two short nights that he had spent in her arms.

Wiping his face, he moved to his desk. He had requested parchment from the Ravenmaster, had made space for it on his desk. Taking a piece, he carefully inscribed a single number – _167_ – before setting the page aside for the morn.

A visit from his brother brought welcome distraction. He would write Sansa of the carved wooden lion and direwolf that Ser Brienne had sent with his brother – a tangible symbol of their marriage, that he would keep on his desk. There was laughter and gentle teasing from Jaime, too – a return, perhaps, to the things Tyrion had once said to him in a small pub outside Winterfell.

After Jaime left, Tyrion took up his pen once more.

> _Our brother Jaime and Ser Brienne have repeated their good wishes and delight in our happiness, and have charged me to pass them to you also.  
Jaime takes great delight in your height, my love, and reminds me of it when he can.  
Perhaps I should present him with a ladder as a wedding gift?_

He took the letter to the Ravenmaster the following morning, and farewelled the bird himself. By noon, he had written a second letter, which he had a page take to the rookery:

> _My dearest wife, Even the bustle of King’s Landing seems lonely without your presence._  
_I miss you more each day, and have taken to wearing your hairpin in my buttonhole as a reminder of you. _  
_I am counting the 166 days until I can depart for the North, even as I juggle schedules to ensure that my work here will be done._  
_Your loving husband._

He wrote again that evening, this time with news that he hoped would not distress his lady.

> _Dearest Sansa, Arya has today left King’s Landing to sail West; she saw me briefly to say farewell, and called me brother. _  
_Frightening as she is, I do like your sister, and not only because she is the next-smallest member of our family._  
_She says that she told you her reasons and although you do not agree with them, you at least accept them._  
_Brienne tells me that she farewelled her and is confident of her eventual return, although it may not be for some years._
> 
> _The guest room in my apartments is near-to-completely filled with Jaime’s purchases, which he will take West after his return from Tarth._  
_I shall have to organise a third wagon for his journey; I fear that our brother should never be permitted in the vicinity of a shop._

His letters were short for the next two days, as he prepared to travel to Tarth for his brother’s wedding. He did not look for a message so soon, so was delighted when the winds brought two ravens that Sansa had sent from the boat that carried her North. He laughed heartily at Sansa’s description of Jaime as “_a handsome and noble brother (do not, I beg you, tell this to Ser Jaime! I fear that he is already sufficiently conceited!)_” and wished that he had someone to share it with, eventually (correctly) choosing Podrick Payne as the one most likely to share his amusement.

In one of her letters, Sansa had confessed to fancying that she could smell his soap at times; from time to time, he thought to catch the scent of her, lingering on his pillows. He had asked the servants not to change them, but knew that he would have to relax that rule. If only he had thought to ask her what soap she preferred, he could have kept it as a reminder of her.

> _I am to travel to Tarth to see our brother wed,_ _and then to the Stormlands with our new Lord Gendry._  
_Ser Davos goes with him to guide, and I will commend him also to Jaime’s new good-father; I believe Lord Selwyn will offer sound advice._  
_In truth, it is strange to me to have family once more – and, most especially, family who I am not ashamed to know as such. _  
_There has been only Jaime for many moons now, but you and Jaime have given me sisters – and brothers also, my king reminds me._

He sent one raven more before he took ship for Tarth.

> _The Ravenmaster tells me that I am depleting our stores of ravens.  
He has called for more, to be sent up from Oldtown, and threatens to ration me.  
Your brother finds this hilarious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I am going to struggle a bit with my posting schedule, but am aiming to update 3x a week.


	2. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Jaime and Brienne marry on Tarth, Tyrion travels to Storm's End with Gendry and Ser Davos.

> _ <strike>Sweet Sansa, the ocean is very blue today.</strike> _
> 
> _My sweetest love,  
_ _I wish you had been with me today to see the fish dancing on the waves. Truly a beautiful sight, although not as beautiful as you, my love._

> _My dearest wife,_
> 
> _ <strike>Have I mentioned, I hate to travel? And I hate the sea. It goes on forever, with nothing to look at. </strike> _
> 
> _My fellow travelers, Lord Gendry, Ser Davos and Ser Podrick, are quite disgustingly merry. I can forgive this of Ser Davos, but wish I could suggest that the others curb their exuberance. I am filling time on this voyage by teaching Lord Gendry the sigils of the Houses of the Stormlands. Say what we will about Daenerys and her reasons for legitimizing him, I believe that he will be a good ruler of the Stormlands.”_

Tyrion wondered, at times, whether his lady wife would find his ravens interesting. Conscious that the Maester at Winterfell would likely read at least some of his messages, and that ravens had been known to go astray, he would not write of her scent when his head was pillowed on her thighs, or of the softness of her breasts and her lips. Instead, he tried to tell her of his days – difficult when he had been stuck on a very dull boat for four of them – and to send stories that she would appreciate.

> _Dearest Sansa, I am safely arrived on Tarth, which is truly a jewel in the crown of the Stormlands. The waters are the bluest I have seen, the grass the deep green that one sees only after spring rains._
> 
> _Our brother and sister-to-be are well and happy, and send their love, although the Evenstar remains oblivious to Brienne’s talents. Something may have to be done. My apologies for the efforts at the top of this page. Unlike you, I did not have access to onboard ravens, but here at Evenfell Hall they are plentiful. _

A day later, his purpose for visiting Tarth accomplished, he at least had something new to report. Knowing that Sansa would wish for details, he tried to offer those that would most interest her.

> _Our brother and sister are wed now, my love. Let me rephrase that: Our brother and our _ ** good ** _-sister, for that is an important distinction that must be made. I do not think I have seen Jaime so pleased as he was today. We spoke last night of our father and of what he might think of us now – Jaime King in the West, and I, Hand to a Stark no less, and wed to another. I believe that he would be caught between pride (in Jaime), horror (Bran) and bemusement (you and I)._
> 
> _Jaime and Brienne cloaked one another, you will be pleased to know. More horror for my father, who must be spinning in his grave by now. Brienne wore a long gown with flowers in her hair, and looked extremely happy, although not as happy as Jaime (surely an impossible feat). You would have enjoyed the feast, particularly the hunted look on Jaime’s face whenever the young women of Tarth approached him. He did well with the older women, though their expectations were clear; I counted thirty three knitted bonnets, forty five knitted socks (note, I do not say _ ** pairs ** _ of socks – something appears to have gone slightly amiss) and eighteen tiny mittens. I foresee Tarth and Casterly Rock being buried in a pile of knitted items when Brienne gives the West an heir._
> 
> _This is becoming overlong, so I shall end now lest the raven fly too slowly, weighted down with the love that I send to you._

He hoped that she would enjoy the socks as much as he had.

After so many years alone, it seemed strange to feel lonely, but in his last night on Tarth Tyrion found himself feeling lost and saddened. The tumultuous years had come to an end, and the work of rebuilding was starting afresh. As much as he told himself that it should not seem dull by comparison, he found himself needing to re-orient his outlook to peace time. It was not that he did not welcome it, but that the rhythms of peace were different than those of war – even at a distance – and the hectic pace of the early days of Bran’s reign and coronation were now behind him.

> _Dearest Sansa,  
_ _I am alone and perhaps a little drunk and maudlin, so I shall confess to you that farewelling Jaime was more difficult than I had imagined. We have been spoiled with togetherness these past months – first in Winterfell, then in our shared cell, and latterly as we discovered what it means to love and to be loved. There have been many times when I thought we would not see one another again, but I shall console myself with the knowledge that we shall visit them at Casterly Rock, and they will come to Winterfell. Nevertheless, the prospect of being stuck in King’s Landing for the next 159 days (I am counting down, you see) with you in Winterfell and Jaime in the West saddens me, even though I have a great deal with which to occupy myself. And first I shall travel to Storm’s End to help our young Lord Baratheon settle._

He was looking forward to visiting Storm's End. He had not spent time in the Stormlands before, and was eager to see the Baratheons' home where three so dissimilar men as Robert, Stannis and Renly had spent their youth. It was a short distance from Tarth - he estimated that it would be a half day's journey at most to sail across Shipbreaker's Bay. His first act - the reason for his visit - would be to summon the lords and ladies of the Stormlands to swear their allegiance to King Brandon, and to Lord Gendry as his representative. His second, perhaps - he would need to ensure that the castle's staff were loyal to Gendry before others were introduced to the space. His further role was to see what work was needed to restore the Stormlands - as they were now a Crown Protectorate, that work would be done by Gendry under Bran's aegis - and, therefore, with Tyrion's approval.

His next raven was sent two days later.

> _Dearest wife,_
> 
> _Have I mentioned, my beloved, that I am emphatically **not** a lover of ocean voyages? You may be aware that Storm’s End does not itself have a harbour, due to its position on the evocatively named Shipbreaker Bay. I was not aware of this, and had expected a short voyage across smooth waters. Instead, I am told, the lords of Storm’s End anchor their fleets at Tarth or at other locations outside the Bay. _
> 
> _Had I known this before, I might have asked why they would anchor their ships at Tarth when it is an island and not therefore directly accessible from the mainland. I shall not make this error again._
> 
> _It was Ser Davos who suggested that he might know an alternate route, sending ravens to Storm’s End and to “acquaintances” with instructions of where to meet us. We sailed from Tarth to a small inlet, never quite entering Shipbreaker Bay. Consequently, we were buffeted both by the ocean and by the currents of the Bay – not my favourite of experiences, particularly on the heels of some overindulgence on the previous day. Your husband was quite green by the time we arrived on the mainland at dusk._
> 
> _Now when I say mainland, my love, picture a small marshy inlet, all sand and tall rushes, full of quiet men and wagons with muffled wheels. If there was any doubt of Ser Davos’s previous avocation, it would have passed that night. They wrapped us in cloaks and blankets and loaded us into those wagons like supplies. _
> 
> _We met the party from Storm’s End at a small town, where we were able to spend the night. There were no ravens to be had there, love; I trust that you do not feel that your husband has been neglecting you. Believe me, I would far rather have been writing to you than sitting in that boat or in that wheelhouse._

There were other letters to write, of course. He owed it to the king to maintain his correspondence, even as he wished to spend his evenings thinking of his wife.

> _To Lord Selwyn Tarth from Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King_
> 
> _My lord,_
> 
> _Thank you once again for your hospitality. I welcome the ties between our families, and will remember my stay on your beautiful island with fondness._
> 
> _Together with Lord Gendry and Ser Davos, I am safely arrived at Storm’s End. I would be grateful if you would pass my regards to my brother and good-sister, your daughter Ser Brienne, when they return to Evenfall Hall. _
> 
> _With my warm good wishes,_
> 
> _Tyrion Lannister._

Tyrion sighed, pinching the top of his nose. He was weary, and ready to sleep. In truth, he mistrusted the ease of their entry to the Stormlands, and was waiting to get a sense of the loyalties of the local lords. They had brought a small group of some twenty men at arms – on loan from Lord Selwyn – but they would be no match for the forces of the Stormlands, should they elect to fight. It was unclear where their shifting loyalties would like; he could but hope that the Stormlanders, like so many in Westeros, were tired of war.

> _Dearest wife,_
> 
> _You will be pleased to hear that our welcome at Storm’s End was a warm one, surprisingly so, given that both Stannis and Renly claimed its governance. You would have laughed, I think, to hear how pompous I can be in the name of our brother._
> 
> _I believe that the castle has suffered from a lack of leadership; the supplies have been gutted, and the Godswood burned. You know that I have little time for gods of any kind, but I believe you will be pleased to hear that the heart-tree appears to be growing once more._
> 
> _From my window, I can see the fierce waters of Shipbreaker Bay. Davos tells me that he once sailed all the way to Storm’s End. I can only be glad that wisdom prevailed in this instance._
> 
> _Tomorrow we begin our task. We shall interview the staff and the castle's Maester and Castellan, and then I shall summon the liege lords and ladies of the Stormlands. Let us hope that this proceeds more smoothly than our journey._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes 20 ravens, I believe.
> 
> I lingered over posting this chapter, because I'm not thrilled with it - I'm not sure that I'd found the right voice, and it feels very much about getting Tyrion where he needs to be. Which of course is where this story really begins. Please stick with it, I think the next chapter is where this story finds its rhythm.


	3. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion tries to sort out who is who in the Stormlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, yesterday: Oh boo hoo, I finished _A Second Chance_ and I don't post daily updates any more.
> 
> Me, today: Oooo, time for _340 Ravens_.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this.

On the day after their arrival in Storm’s End, Tyrion was kept busy interviewing the staff and others who remained in the castle, and had dined early with Ser Davos and Lord Gendry before retreating to his room, pleading tiredness.

In truth, he had made a promise to his lady, and wished for time to think of her as he watched the stars.

> _Dearest Sansa,_
> 
> _Forgive my long letters, wife, but I find that writing to you helps me to think through the many problems that beset the Stormlands. Slowly, the reasons for their apparent willingness to accept Lord Gendry are becoming clear. The Lords of the Stormlands were caught – even more than your own people – in the War of the Five Kings. Those that did not support Stannis were on Renly’s side, and my conversations with those who remember have shown that this turned brother against brother, neighbour against neighbour. There are few adult lords left here now – the Stormlands are ruled by the very old and the very young, and by its women. This will of course not perturb you, my beloved, but the men who hold Storm’s End have not known how to deal with these ladies, so have simply avoided making any decisions at all. Such guidance as our young Lord can provide will be welcomed._

On the following day, he took his noonday meal with Gendry and Ser Davos, as well as the castle’s Maester Jurne and Castellan, Ser Gilbert Farring.

“The truth is,” Ser Gilbert volunteered, “We have not known precisely _whom_to hold the castle for. With the Baratheon brothers all dead, we have been in want of a lord – and in want of a king or queen to send us one.” He bowed his head towards Lord Gendry. “It will be good to have strong leadership again, my lord.” He nodded, with a smile, at Ser Davos, whom he remembered from Stannis’s time as the saviour of Storm’s End.

Tyrion had met Ser Gilbert’s type before; a competent administrator, with little imagination and even less ambition. It was as well for their mission and for Lord Gendry’s rule that such a man had been left in charge – a less honest and more cunning man might have thought to take the tower for himself, especially given the lack of Baratheon heirs. The problems that the Stormlands faced were annoying but solvable; Gendry would be faced with a great deal of work, but a minimum of hostility. In fact, the chaotic situation would likely to work to his advantage, with opportunities to reward those who were inclined to support his claim and to work towards the changes that the King wished to implement.

> _PRIVATE MISSIVE – KING’S LANDING RAVENMASTER, PLEASE FORWARD TO QUEEN SANSA STARK OF WINTERFELL._  
__  
Dearest,  
  
_We are to take a census of the ladies and lords of the Stormlands. There are a surprising number of posthumous lordlings – particularly when we consider how long their fathers were away at war. Some even have older sisters born after their dear father left to fight for Renly or Stannis. Babes are indeed a curious thing.  
_ _This talk of children makes me think of you, and hope that we might one day be so blessed. I am fearful, also – I would not wish my own imperfect body on another – but I am a selfish man, my love, and the thought of you swelling with my seed, and holding our child against your breast, brings me great delight.  
_ _I must ration my ravens, my dearest; this letter will first go to King’s Landing with another for your brother, before he sends it northwards._

> _To King Brandon the Raven_  
_From his Hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister_   
__  
Your Grace,  
  
_As you are surely aware, these troubles in the Stormlands will require rather longer to resolve than we had anticipated. If Your Grace is willing, I propose to confirm such Ladies as are willing in their roles and appoint Regents as required for the various orphaned lordlings (and ladylings). I anticipate that Lord Gendry will be kept busy arbitrating between them and ensuring that undue advantage is not taken.  
_ _I look forward to your response, and anticipate that my presence may be required here for some two or three sevendays._

\---ooooo---

After three days, Tyrion thought that he was beginning to understand the state of the Houses of the Stormlands: it was sorry indeed.

Working with Maester Jurne and Ser Davos, he had prepared a list of the principal and minor Houses of the Stormlands. That list alone told a tale; they identified 28 Houses and a further ten of which nothing had been heard for generations. Of the 28, nine were newly extinct – thank the War of the Five Kings for that, Tyrion thought with his lip curled, gladly drawing a line through the name of House Peasebury of Poddingfield, House Morrigen of Crow’s Nest and Cafferen of Fawnton, as well as others. Ten Houses were held by their established lords – seven, if he excluded Lord Gendry, Lord Selwyn and Ser Davos from consideration – although several had no heir. A further five were ruled by the very old, of whom only one had an heir, one was ruled by a bastard, and two were ruled by ladies, neither of whom had an heir at the present moment. A decision loomed over the remaining House – House Connington. Unless something were done, and done quickly, the number of Houses in the Stormlands would be halved in the coming years.

> _From His Grace King Brandon the Raven, to his Hand Tyrion Lannister.  
  
_ _Why did you think I sent you to the Stormlands? I will not look for you until your work there is complete._

Sometimes, Tyrion thought, he could almost sympathise with Jaime’s having pushed the King from a window.

> _KING’S LANDING RAVENMASTER – PLEASE DELIVER TO QUEEN SANSA’S APARTMENTS IN THE RED KEEP_  
  
_To Lord Ser King Jaime Lannister and Queen Ser Lady Brienne Lannister of Tarth and the Westerlands  
  
_ _Stuck in Stormlands. Trust we shall meet again soon. Tyrion._

> _Dearest Sansa,_  
  
_I shall be required in the Stormlands for another two or three sevendays, I believe, as we resolve the inheritance questions that appear to have arisen in respect of all save two of the Houses here.  
  
_ _I have sent a raven to Jaime and Brienne, as I had hoped to see them in King’s Landing before they travelled West. We shall need to resolve their official titles; they were twice the length of the message itself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make that 26. (EDIT: Whoops! Only 25.)


	4. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is sick of being on a stupid boat.

Seventeen days and nights on a boat were not, Sansa decided, the very worst way that she had ever travelled. No, her worst experience of travel was when she had travelled with her father and with the King and Queen from Winterfell to King’s Landing, and it would be trivial to compare this voyage to that one.

She could stand and move around – at least when the boat was not pitching in the wind – and had her own cabin, where she could be alone with her thoughts and with her work. They had carried ravens with them, but – the captain explained – they were only useful when they were near to shore – else the ravens might tire before even reaching land. And of course no raven could be trained to find a boat as it bucked and dipped in the fierce Westerosi waters.

> _Nevertheless, my love, I find that I look forward to being settled. Perhaps in the future, if we need to travel south, or to visit our family in the West, we can take a very large wheelhouse as well as riding horses, should we wish for activity. I have seen the mummers take colourful wagons in which they can sleep and even eat; I confess that camping is hardly an unalloyed delight for me._

Of course, to every cloud there is a silver lining. For Sansa, being cut off from news was not altogether disagreeable. The minor and petty questions of state were shelved – or perhaps (she could hope) resolved without needing to be referred to her. The major ones would keep. In the meantime, she had time to herself every day – time to write to Tyrion, time to send other messages, such as that to Jaime and Brienne congratulating them on their marriage.

> _As an ‘old hand’ at marriage, and in particular in marriage to a Lannister, Brienne, I can assure you that I believe we will eventually become accustomed to them. And as one new to marriage, as you will be too, I will confess that I have little idea of when that day may come. In truth, it will soon be you to whom I must look for such advice, as Tyrion and I had such a short time together before my ship set sail. (I do not, you understand, count our earlier marriage as a true one)._
> 
> _To you, I send my love and best wishes; to Ser Jaime, my congratulations on his choice of bride. You may tell him that I did not look for him to be so wise. I shall eagerly await reports of your marriage. Do write to tell me of your day; I was sorry that my journey to Winterfell was so pressing that I could not be there with you._
> 
> _Your friend and sister,_
> 
> _Sansa_

She had left Winterfell its lady, but would return its Queen, and wished to commence her reign by showing the people of the North what she would do for them. The market was an important beginning, but there was work to be done at Winterfell also. The food stores that she had kept so vigilantly had been reduced by the armies that had fought the Night King; the Keep itself had been damaged, by the fighting and by the creatures that had attacked, most notably the undead dragon. Her people had hauled it out using ropes and chains, but that courtyard – and countless other parts of the castle – would need to be rebuilt.

> _I miss you quite dreadfully, dearest Tyrion, and not only in_ ** that ** _way. Here on the boat – and even when I reach Winterfell – there is nobody with whom I can speak openly, nobody to share my ideas with. I should name a Hand, but I doubt that we will need one when we have one another._

Every day, Sansa’s lists grew longer. There was a template for the inventory that she would require of the North’s food reserves and of its weapons, many left over after the Long Night. More than a memento of the battle, they were a promise that its like would never be seen again. She planned to send half the dragonglass reserves to arm her northernmost lords, the Night’s Watch, and the free folk, while retaining the remainder at Winterfell as an emergency armoury. There was a list of the vacant positions that would need to be filled, including the roles of Hand of the Queen, of armourer, and of master of arms. She would require a small council, as many of the advisors that had seen Winterfell through those dark days and nights had returned to their homes – Lord Royce to the Vale, Samwell Tarly south with Bran, even Ser Brienne now lost to her. She would not be rushed to name her council, but would consider carefully what her bannermen had to offer.

> _I am considering, my love, how to repair the damage to our home without obliterating the marks of the Long Night. I would have them stay as a reminder, if I can do so without compromising the safety and security of Winterfell._

At a more personal level, she wished to make her home ready to receive Tyrion as its lord. She would have her chambers refurbished – she had already occupied her parents’ rooms, but would see that there was suitable furnishings for herself and for her husband – and would have some footstools made for where he required assistance, for example to climb onto the bed. He would require chests for his clothes, also; she would have the carpenter work on those, although rebuilding the keep was to be his priority. She sketched a plan for a seat with a step cunningly incorporated into its base, to assist him in sitting beside her. And she cut and sewed her new saddle blanket in a stunning pale silver cloth, with grey direwolves wearing golden crowns scattered across it.

She wrote, also, a message for Maester Wolkan to copy and send on to her bannermen – the noble houses of the North, the landed knights, and others who had fought beside them. To each, she extended greetings,

> _To the Lords of the North_
> 
> _From Queen Sansa Stark of the independent North, greetings._
> 
> _Know that at King’s Landing Queen Cersei and Queen Daenerys were both defeated. A council of the noble ladies and lords of the land elected Brandon Stark the new King of Westeros, and six kingdoms swore allegiance._
> 
> _I swore to you that the North would never again bend the knee, and I took that oath to the council. The new king agreed that the North had more than earned its independence, although we remain close allies of the Six Kingdoms._
> 
> _My brother Jon Snow has returned to the frozen lands north of the Wall, where he will remain._
> 
> _I summon you to attend my coronation, to swear your allegiance to our new independent north, and to pass on your concerns and questions so that I can rule justly and fairly._
> 
> _I shall look for your confirmation when I reach Winterfell._
> 
> _Following the coronation, a market will be established at the gates of Winterfell. Your smallholders may have objects to sell, or may wish to view the wares. I encourage you to encourage their attendance._

Smiling, she stroked the soft feather of her quill across her chin. It was not perfect yet, but it would do.

> _Dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _I am grown fatigued with travel, fatigued with this boat, fatigued by the four walls of my cabin. I am fatigued with the blue seas that seem to stretch forever, with the fish that swim beside the boat, and fretful for want of news from you. Not that you could send it anyway – I am anticipating that there might be a raven or three awaiting me at Winterfell – simply that I miss you and I wish I had you here with me today as I am quite melancholy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That makes 31 ravens, so far.


	5. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange Things are afoot at Storm's End, and Tyrion is hoarding ravens.

Tyrion spent the following days dispatching messengers to the major Houses of the Stormlands. He chose to use messengers rather than ravens because he required confirmation that the messages had been received, or so he told himself when he carefully counted the number of birds that remained in the rookery. There would be enough for his stay, and a few left when he departed, if he was careful and made double use of the birds that he sent to the King.

In Bran’s name, he sent messages to Dorne, requesting to trade for food – the forests of the Stormlands had the best timber in Westeros, with tall trees suitable for ship-building and stout oaks for wagons and barrels. Matters were not desperate in the Stormlands, but they had not husbanded their resources with the care he had seen Sansa exercise in the North. In his own name, he sent an order to an agent he had previously dealt with for a shipload of fruits and grains – and wines, of course – to be delivered to Sansa in Wintefell.

> _I have not told you, beloved, of the state of the noble houses of the Stormlands. Of eight and twenty houses, nine are newly extinct, with a further ten but a Stranger away from the same fate. Your brother has bid me stay here until my work is complete; I fear he intends me to become a matchmaker._

There was consolation and amusement to be had, despite his boredom, particularly when Tyrion investigated the ancestry of some of the noble houses of the Stormlands.

> _You will perhaps not understand my delight to learn that an ancestor of one of the noble houses here, Rain House, was the author of a particularly dirty little book. I read it once, on a dull ship journey. I shall attempt to resist referencing it when the young Lord of House Wylde arrives to swear his fealty. It would not do to distract him._

There was a copy of the book in the library; he suggested to Davos that perhaps Gendry might practise his reading skills on something a little more interesting than histories of Westeros and shipping lists.

> _My dearest wife,_
> 
> _Storm’s End is quite dreadfully dull. There is little to do but wait for responses from the various lords and ladies of the place. Ser Davos has set Lord Gendry’s Castellan to making an inventory of the supplies and weapons in the castle. Gendry is fretting mightily and would dearly love to join in, but we feel that a little distance might be wise in this instance. Instead, Davos and I spend much of the day in the library, helping him with his letters. He is a quick learner, and when he becomes frustrated we walk slowly around the castle as though we wish to inspect something._

These tours of inspection yielded, at times, quite unexpected results, beyond a few extremely large spiders and the occasional rat skeleton. On the seventh day after their arrival in Storm’s End, Tyrion, Gendry and Ser Davos decided to explore a tower above the kitchens which the cooking staff assured them, had been deserted for five years or more. The tower looked East towards Summerhall.

The first floor contained an open storeroom, such as might be used to store foodstuffs for immediate use. Moldy bedrolls and clothing suggested that it had also been used as a sleeping space; being above the kitchen, the space was warmed by the hearth fires. The next contained a closed room which proved to contain a store of wooden trenchers and tin plates, eating knives, wooden spoons and clay cups – enough for the largest of groups. Tyrion made a note; he would have the kitchen staff retrieve these as required, as the ladies and lords of the Stormlands began to assemble.

> _I have a gift for you from the Stormlands, love – one that has been five years or longer in the making. We set off on another of our tours of inspection, this time in the kitchen tower, which they tell us has been unused for at least five years. _
> 
> _On the third floor above the kitchens, Ser Davos opened the door. You will remember him as a stoic, at times rather dour man, but I do not think I have seen him terrified as he was when he closed that door; his face was quite white. Gendry and I looked after him, and I cannot blame him for his horror; even forewarned, it was a terrifying sight. The room was quite filled with bees, and with combs of honey that stretched from one end of the room to the other, quite twelve feet or more._
> 
> _Storm’s End’s cook’s brother’s wife’s uncle – one of those relationships that one must be quite local to comprehend – is apparently the local beekeep, and so he was sent for post-haste. The poor man arrived looking terrified, as though he feared that his lord might have been stung._
> 
> _The upshot is that all the local wainwrights and coopers – any skilled person who works with wood and who might have a stock of it – are to be set to making hives, and the beekeep will remove the bees as he works. The hives will be distributed amongst the locals – I tried to suggest that Gendry give each of his ladies and lords a score of hives, as a reward for their fealty, but he simply glared at me – and Storm’s End will have honey for the next hundred and fifty years or so, if they can only find enough bottles and pots to hold it all._
> 
> _Well, Storm’s End and Winterfell – and perhaps Casterly Rock and King’s Landing also, if I can prevail upon my host._
> 
> _The beekeep tells me, I should add, that one can safely transport bees during Winter, even over long distances. Should you wish to start a hive of our own, send word to Gendry and he will be only too glad to oblige. I wonder, should we send some to Jaime and Brienne?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to call this chapter "A Discovery of Bees" but spoilers.
> 
> I make that 35 ravens so far.


	6. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of the Lords of the Stormlands arrives. Also, there is quite a lot of honey.

Supporting Tyrion’s view that Ser Gilbert was competent to deal with the expected but rather less capable when faced with the unexpected, the man looked to his new lord to resolve the bee problem. After consultation with Boryn, the beekeep, Gendry agreed a course of action. Heavy curtains were hung at the top of the stairs at each of the three floors, as well as at the door of the room with the hive, with the intent to prevent any escaping bees from entering the castle proper. The storage room on the second level was cleared and the shutters removed to open its windows, in case any bees made it that far. Empty hive boxes were stored there as they were constructed and brought to the castle. Twice a day, Boryn would veil himself and enter the room with his similarly-veiled assistant, a sharp knife, and a hive box, the assistant carrying a burning torch and a bunch of dried leaves. The assistant would set fire to the leaves, creating smoke, which he would waft around a section of the hive. This would quiet the bees, and Boryn would then cut off a section of hive before securing it in the hive box, capturing the leaking honey in a pot or cup. On leaving the room, they would close the door tightly and then check one another carefully for stray bees, before proceeding down the stairs and outside, securing the hive box some distance from the castle. It was a slow process, but Boryn assured them that it was both the safest method and the one that would preserve the bees, the combs, and the honey.

> _There were honey cakes tonight, my love, made with fresh honey from the hive. I watched the beekeep today as he cut off a section of the honeycomb – he has a spare set of veils for a careful observer. The honey flows like water from the comb; I foresee a great many honey cakes in the coming weeks._

Evening meals were taken, as they had been in Winterfell, in the Great Hall. Gendry, Tyrion and Davos, together with Ser Gilbert, sat at the high table, and the residents of the castle were encouraged to eat with them, seated at long tables that half-filled the hall. It was a choice, Gendry acknowledged, inspired by the examples that Sansa and Lord Selwyn had set – sharing a meal, he felt, unified people. He took to identifying small deeds that his people had performed and recognising them – a server sometimes, or Boryn, or one of the men at arms. There were always cheers when Lord Gendry made one of his announcements. He would not have done well in the West or even in the Reach, Tyrion thought, but his practical nature and good humour were rapidly endearing him to his people.

The first of the Lords of the Stormlands arrived on the ninth day after their arrival. To be exact, no Lords of the Stormlands arrived on the ninth day; instead, two members of House Connington appeared, each eager to ingratiate themselves with their new liege.

Raymund Connington was the first to be presented, claiming for himself the title of Lord of Griffin’s Roost. “I believe him to be some sort of cousin of the previous lord, Jon Connington,” Davos had noted; Tyrion added that Jon was briefly Hand to Aerys Targaryen, and died without issue. His older brother, Ser Ronnet, had died of a putrid condition; Raymund confided that he had contracted it from a splinter he incurred upon a poorly maintained privy. "Not at Griffin's Roost, of course; we take excellent care of all of our privies. And the other chambers too, of course."

His death had been protracted and unpleasant, but he had retained control of Griffin’s Roost almost until the end, and left behind a young bastard son. As a result, Raymund was seen by his men at arms as somewhat ineffectual and indecisive. Aged in his mid twenties, he was not an unattractive man, although his mouth appeared sulky, as though he felt that his life had been overly hard. He was followed by his sister Lady Alynne, aged around twenty. She confessed somewhat petulantly that she did not enjoy travel and had rather have stayed at home.

> _I had wondered, my dearest, whether the young Connington girl might turn our young lord’s head from thoughts of our dear sister. I fear that that will not be the case; she is skittish and anxious, and he does not know how to deal with her._

Lord Gendry welcomed them both, carefully avoiding confirming anyone as Lord or Lady of Griffin’s Roost. Raymund was allocated a guest room, and Lady Alynne was accommodated in a separate wing of the castle where the rooms had, at Tyrion’s suggestion, been set aside for visiting ladies and their handmaidens.

> _There was mention of Tarth this evening, my love; Gendry mentioned that we had travelled there on our way from King’s Landing, although he did not mention our purpose. Raymund Connington told us that his late brother had visited Tarth once and was unfavourably impressed by the island. We allowed him to run on for a while, none listening to what he had to say, before Ser Davos interfered. “I should tell you,” he said quietly, “that the Lord Hand’s brother, King Ser Jaime Lannister of the Westerlands, was recently married to Ser Brienne, the Lady of Tarth.” _
> 
> _I wondered whether Connington would have an apoplexy, he turned so red. Petty of me, I know, however we must take our amusements where we can._

> _To King Ser Jaime Lannister of the Westerlands and Ser Queen Brienne of the Westerlands and Lady of Tarth, from Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of King Brandon the Raven and Consort to Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Queen In The North._  
  
Do (did) you or Brienne know a Ronnet Connington? Probably an arse, apparently visited Tarth once. Died recently of a putrid infection - a splinter from a dirty privy.  
Also, what is your position on bees?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's 39 ravens so far.


	7. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A further three Stormlander noble families arrive at Storm's End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shortish chapter yesterday so another today.

Tyrion was kept occupied on the following day by the arrival of not one but three more noble families of the Stormlands. Each brought a different problem to solve.

The first to arrive was Alesander Staedmon, Lord of Broad Arch. Known as “the Pennylover”, he had submitted to Joffrey early in Stannis’s campaign and had lived in King’s Landing for the past five years or so. Rumour had it, Davos whispered, that he had boasted that he had saved considerable coin living as a guest of the King or Queen. Nevertheless, he had left King’s Landing when word of Daenerys’s arrival had reached the capital, pleading a need to visit his holdings. Tyrion had met him once or twice and had found him forgettable – in that he had forgotten ever having met him. Lord Staedmon took delight in reminding him of the minutiae of those meetings. He was happy to swear allegiance to Gendry even without waiting for any formal ceremony – “it’s good to have a Baratheon in charge again,” he told the young man with a jovial pat on his arm, “for all the world,” an outraged Davos said later, “as if he had spared even a single thought for the Stormlands while he lived it up in King’s Landing.” Nevertheless, Gendry, advised by Tyrion and Davos, was happy to accept Lord Staedmon’s oath, and promised to hear his concerns later that day.

> _And what concerns they were, my love! He requires a wife to act as his housekeeper, as the servants are unruly. Never mind that he was absent for five years, or that the kingdoms have been at war. <strike>And never mind that the man is too mean to pay for a housekeeper.</strike>As much as I wish that Winterfell were closer – that _ ** you ** _were closer – I am not sorry that distance will separate us from these particular southern lords._

The second lord to arrive was Ralph Buckler, the Lord of House Buckler of Bronzegate. Like the Pennylover, Lord Buckler had spent his recent years in King’s Landing, mainly through a lack of will to leave. With neither wife nor children, his young cousin Hugh had effectively taken on the work of a Castellan.

> _Lord Buckler is a pleasant enough fellow, my love, for all that he seems incapable of making decisions. He recognises this trait in himself, and organises matters around it to allow himself to do as little as possible. He was accompanied by his young cousin Hugh – a handsome man of perhaps 30 years – and requested that Gendry confirm him as his heir. Fortunately, this plan aligned with Davos’s recommendations – Hugh Buckler has been lord in all but name these past five years and is well-liked within the Stormlands. _
> 
> _I suspect that Lord Buckler’s failure to provide an heir for Bronzegate might owe something to his close friendship with his master of arms, who shares his rooms and, I suspect, his bed – but young Hugh Buckler seems likely to provide the House with an heir, if his eye for the ladies is any guide. I am considering sending him to your brother in King’s Landing; he is a solid swordsman but would benefit from further training, such as might be provided to a member of the Gold Cloaks or King’s Guard. Of course, Jaime and Brienne would provide better training, but the Stormlands are tied to the Crown and appearances must be upheld._
> 
> _I would like to see him wed a lady of the Stormlands, to secure his position here, but as you and I know, my dearest, the heart cannot be bidden; it must choose for itself._

Lord Buckler was happy to swear an oath of fealty to Lord Gendry, and suggested that his young cousin do the same. In return, Hugh Buckler was confirmed as the heir to House Buckler, and was adjoined by Ser Davos to settle down with a family to ensure the succession. The Bronzegate was a strategic site – a major town on the road to King’s Landing – and it would be important to maintain a strong hall there.

The third to arrive was Lady Haryet Fell of Felwood. Aged in her late 20s, she was the widow of Lord Harwood Fell, who had fought with Stannis in the North. “Let me be very clear, my lords,” she had said when she was introduced, “I have no children, no interest in Felwood, and no interest in ruling. I will stay where I am needed as housekeeper, but I have had enough of managing things beyond the home. I will not rule as a lord in place of a husband.” She continued, “There is nobody left to inherit Felwood, and I shall not be providing any posthumous babes, even if my husband were not dead these three years and more. I’d rather take my widow’s portion and move to a town where I can live quietly; you can gift Felwood to whoever wants it, although for my husband’s sake I would ask that they take the name of Fell.”

> _Ser Davos suggests – and I think his idea has merit – that we approach Lady Fell to propose a potential marriage to Lord Buckler. With Hugh’s position confirmed, there would be no question of his troubling her for an heir, and the castle – located in a bustling town, as the lady desires – would certainly benefit from a lady to act as housekeeper and hostess. I shall say nothing as yet, however I think it a good solution. We can then find someone useful to place as Lord or Lady Fell of Felwood – perhaps a third son or daughter of another House of the Stormlands._

The meal that evening was uncomfortable. Young Raymund Connington attempted to show off to the newcomers and only succeeded in making himself appear foolish; as fools do sometimes, he knew this, however this knowledge only made him redouble his efforts and, therefore, his foolishness. Noticing nothing, Lady Alynne flirted and postured.

> _Does she think we would marry her to Lord Alesander Staedmon? She was twirling her hair and fluttering her eyelids and leaning forward toward him like a tavern wench. Lady Fell appeared shocked, although she keeps quietly to herself and does not join the conversations. Meanwhile, I doubt that the Pennylover noticed; he occupied himself by attempting to calculate the cost of the tapestries in the hall of Storm’s End. I do not think him a cruel man, but neither do I think that he would be of interest to a lively young woman._
> 
> _I do not believe Lady Alynne to be mean-spirited; I suspect that the problem is simply that she has not been brought up in the company of other ladies. I hope to find a way to foster her – or, at her age, to invite her to visit – with one of the great ladies of the Stormlands._

The lords and ladies were to remain at Storm’s End until all of the houses who owed allegiance to the Stormlands were represented. Once all had sworn allegiance to Gendry as Lord Protector of the Stormlands, Tyrion would have them swear allegiance to King Brandon also.

> _Your Grace,_
> 
> _The ladies and lords of the Stormlands have started to arrive. I anticipate that they will all have arrived within a sevenday. _

> _My love, _
> 
> _One further message from me before I must sleep. I must confess that I very much enjoy this side of governance – sorting out these noble houses is rather like a puzzle. It is as well that I am only here to help Gendry and to represent the King, or I fear that I might be tempted to make more comment than would be welcome. I shall rely on you to temper my sharp tongue in the North, as my duty to your brother tempers it here in the South._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only actually three ravens. The first one was really really big, practically an eagle, and Tyrion has EXTREMELY TINY HANDWRITING when he chooses.  
Really.  
So that’s 42.


	8. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raymund Connington is even more of a dick than before, Tyrion nearly loses his temper, and a gift is sent to Casterly Rock.

Tyrion awoke early the following morning. His mood was low. Although he kept himself occupied during the day and had promised the king his service, he could not promise that his thoughts would not turn to the North, particularly when his mind was at rest.

He wondered what Sansa was doing now, whether she thought of him. Had she already reached White Harbour, or even Winterfell? Did she – no. He ruthlessly repressed the tiny thought that wormed its way into his head. Sansa Stark would not have given him her body, would not have married him again if she was not sure of her feelings. To mistrust her love for him was to mistrust her, and he would not make that mistake. Whatever her reasons, however unexpected it might be, Sansa truly shared his feelings; the northern Queen was no liar. Strange as it might seem, she loved him – _almost_as much, perhaps, as he loved her.

He reached for the hairpin that lay beside his bed, kissing it gently. He wore it every day, tucked into his buttonhole, a constant memento of his wife.

> _It scarcely seems possible, my love, but I miss you more with each passing day. By the time I am free to come to you in Winterfell, I shall be nothing but a great mass of longing._
> 
> _I wrote to you of Lady Fell, and on reflection I worry that a match such as Ser Davos proposes might trap her in a marriage lacking passion and love. I shall attempt to speak to the lady – although whether she will be comfortable to discuss her future with a group of men seems debatable._

He broke his fast in the Great Hall, with Gendry and Ser Davos to keep him company. The older lords and Lady Fell joined them, together with Hugh Buckler. There were still spaces at the tables in the room, but they would fill before long as the rest of the Stormlords arrived. The Conningtons, Tyrion noticed, were not yet present when Gendry and Davos left for the library. Tyrion stayed and made light conversation with the lords and with Lady Fell before taking his latest letter to the Rookery.

From the tower, he saw riders approaching, and prepared himself for another influx of ladies and lordlings. He could see the banners of House Morrigen of Crow’s Nest and of House Errol of Haystack Hill approaching together, another group further behind. Tugging at his jerkin, he hurried down the steps to find Gendry and Ser Davos.

The men returned to the Great Hall just in time to greet not two lords but one. Sebastion Errol was Lord of Haystack Hall following the presumed death of his father with Stannis’s forces in the North. Aged just 17, the young man was from a cadet branch of the family; his father, also Sebastion Errol, was the uncle of the previous Lady of the house. He was accompanied by his mother Lady Bolina, who exuded confidence and competence. Tyrion was favourably impressed by the young man, who was both respectful and eager to please his new lord, and by his mother.

The news from Crow’s Nest was less favourable; Ser Richard Morrigen was believed to have perished with Stannis, and had left neither heirs nor relatives. The Castellan himself had come to advise Lord Gendry of this fact and to ask what was to be done with the castle.

> _We hardly knew what to say, sweet queen of my heart. There are so many extinct Houses here in the Stormlands, we could not promise the poor man a new lord. For now, he is to continue to care for the castle and its denizens on Gendry’s behalf._

The final house to arrive that day was House Gower of Gowington. Ser Davos gave a cry as a man, woman and two boys approached their group, moving forward to embrace first the man and then the woman, before ruffling the boys’ hair affectionately.

“Lord Gendry,” he said, “May I present my good friend Ser Gerald Gower and his lady Karia.” Gendry gave a smile as the knight and his lady bowed to him. Ser Davos frowned gently. “Now which of you is which?” he asked the boys, who giggled and shuffled their feet. Tyrion judged them to be about twelve years old.

Davos dropped an avuncular arm around the shoulders of the shorter boy. “I believe that you must be Kerron,” he said, and the boy nodded. “That means you must be Edric,” he said to the taller, stockier boy, reaching an arm out to him also. “It is good to see you once more,” he continued, before returning to Gendry.

“Lord Gendry, allow me to present to you Lord Kerron Gower, heir to Gowington” – Lord Kerron made a bow – “and your own half-brother Edric Storm, who has been living with these kind people since Ser Gerald smuggled him out of Dragonstone.” The young man bowed to his brother and liege as Lady Karia watched, an anxious look on her face.

To everyone’s relief – Tyrion told himself it was only to be expected – a broad smile spread across Gendry’s face, and he stepped down to embrace his half-brother. “I am very happy to meet you,” he told the boy, and nobody in the room could doubt his sincerity. “I hope that we shall have time to talk while you are here at Storm’s End. And you also, Ser Gerald, Lady Karia, Lord Kerron.”

Afterwards, when they had returned to the library, Ser Davos apologised; “I should not have sprung news of the boy upon you like that, lad. But I was not sure until they arrived that he had survived – and I knew that you would be glad to meet him.”

Gendry frowned. “We must consider what to do for him,” he said. “I could ask the King to legitimise him and name him my heir, but I think that he is still young for that sort of responsibility. He will need a Hall of his own, also. We should talk with Lord Gerald and Lady Karia, consider whether the boy should be fostered somewhere. The boys, rather, for Lord Kerron could go with him.”

> _And that was interesting, my love, for it seems that our young lord has no immediate plans for an heir of his own body. I wonder whether he has simply not thought of it, or whether he yet holds a torch for our Arya. I think well of him, however, for his welcome of a brother who might as easily have sought to usurp his place here at Storm’s End._

> _To King Brandon the Raven, From his Hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister_
> 
> _Your Grace,_
> 
> _We have turned up another of Robert’s bastards, a young lad of 14 years. I have in mind to give him one of the empty halls to rule, but think first to send him and his foster-brother to King’s Landing, for some training. Gendry has in mind to name him his heir, but I believe that can wait for some time. He would like to see the lad legitimised, which seems advisable._
> 
> _We could do worse than to send the boys to Jaime and Brienne for further training, but that might be a little far for their (foster) parents’ liking._

The evening meal was enlivened by the presence of both boys, for there were no other noble children in the castle to require a nursery tea. Once again, Raymund Connington showed himself to be a braggart and a fool, as he attempted to impress the young boys with tales of his prowess. Edric Storm frowned as he attempted to tell a tale of his prowess with a sword.

“And yet, you are not _Ser _Raymund?” the young man asked.

“Well, not yet,” blustered Connington. “I am still quite young, you know, not yet five and twenty, and they do not like to make knights of boys.” He looked at Ser Davos with a smirk. “Not that one must usually wait for quite as long as our good knight here.”

Edric looked at him, eyes wide. “And yet, one hears that Jaime Lannister was knighted at only sixteen years,” he said.

Connington frowned. “The cases are hardly the same,” he said brusquely. “I am the heir to Griffin’s Roost –”

“Heir Presumptive,” Ser Davos interjected, to a glare from the young man.

“which is of course an important House —and a knighthood at such a young age was clearly too much for Jaime Lannister.”

At this, the table stilled, even Connington’s sister Alynne realising that this was a step too far.

Tyrion carved another piece of meat and raised it to his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately before taking a long sip from his goblet. When he had wiped his mouth, he turned to look at the young man. 

“Perhaps you were not aware,” he said quietly, his diction precise and his tone cold, “that my dear brother, Ser Jaime Lannister, is now the King of the Westerlands and Lord of Casterly Rock. I am sure that nobody could be so foolish as to suggest that – Griffin’s Roost –” he smirked a little, curling his lip as he said the name – “has more significance to the six kingdoms than the Seat of the West.” He paused, taking another sip of wine and glancing with studied carelessness around the room at the faces, some shocked, some interested. “Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the tales of Mad King Aerys and his desire to burn all of King’s Landing rather than surrender it to Robert’s armies – and of that same young Jaime Lannister who slew the mad king and saved the city.” He made it sound a children’s tale, as though all of Westeros should know what his brother had until recently kept so guarded. “I am sure, however, that you _have_ heard that it was my brother's actions _even at such a young age_ that delivered the throne to Robert in what was ultimately a near-bloodless coup. And I am _certain_ that you have heard tales of the bravery of both Ser Jaime and his wife Ser Brienne, as they defended the realm at the Battle of the Long Night while others cowered in the South. For only a foo—”

“Ser Jaime fought tirelessly, despite the loss of his hand,” Gendry interrupted. “It was a great honour to fight on the same side as such noble knights as he and Queen Brienne. Every person in this room – every person in the realm – owes their life to those who fought at the Long Night.”

Haughtily, Tyrion climbed down from his chair and stalked out of the room.

> _My dearest brother,_
> 
> _I am reduced to defending your honour – with the able assistance of Ser Davos – against young men who should know better, and to holding back striplings who would defend it for you. Tell me, in your broad knowledge of the families of the realm, have you ever heard of a Connington bastard worth the name? Preferably one of Jon’s, with a strong claim to Griffin’s Roost. This young man annoys me more by the day; it is as well that I left my dragonglass dagger in Winterfell._

> _The worst of it is, my love, that may not have been entirely wrong. Although Jaime thought being knighted was the making of him, it also made him particularly vulnerable to the sort of manipulation that both the Targaryens and my late sister (note, I do not say _ ** our ** _ sister when I speak of Cersei) excelled at. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if he had stayed in the West for a time, especially after Cersei left for King’s Landing – then realise that Aerys would have blown King’s Landing sky-high. It does not do to dwell on what-ifs, for the past is what has brought us the present._
> 
> _On what I trust is a more amusing note: I have today despatched a wagon with two score frames of bees to Casterly Rock. Boryn the Beekeep assures me that they are well sealed and that the bees will survive well; the frames are packed about with straw and blankets to keep the insects snug, and they are hibernating through the winter. I sent a hive also, which I had painted in red and gold, Lannister colours. I added my own contribution on one side; a remarkably tall maiden with blonde hair and blue armour, and a bear that looks – although I say so myself – remarkably like the King of the Westerlands. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 ravens for Winterfell, plus 2 more. 47 ravens and counting.


	9. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's ship docks at White Harbour

There was little, Sansa thought when her ship finally docked at White Harbour, so lovely as dry land. She thought it again when the innkeep showed her to her rooms. As well as a spacious bedchamber with a large featherbed (which did not rock at all), she had a larger sitting room with a small dining table and chair, a comfortable chaise, a well-stocked writing desk, and a leaping fire in each chamber. A smaller room provided beds for the two handmaidens who travelled with her.

> _My dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _We are arrived in White Harbour just in time, for the seas were becoming rougher and I was starting to become quite unwell. We are to set out for Winterfell after a day of rest, but first I shall send to the rookery to request ravens to be sent to King’s Landing. I have also sent something for you with the Captain of the ship, which is shortly to return to King’s Landing._

> _From Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, to Brandon Stark the Raven, King of the Six Kingdoms, Greetings_
> 
> _Dearest Brother,_
> 
> _I am arrived safely in White Harbour, as I am sure my Lord Husband will have told you. The sea voyage was horrid and it occurred to me more than once that you may have agreed to become King not because of any compelling desire to do so but simply to ensure that you would not be required to make this voyage again. I shall deny ever making this suggestion, should you put it to me again._
> 
> _I remain, your loving sister._

> _Maester Wolkan,_
> 
> _We are safely arrived at White Harbour, and expect to be with you within a sevenday. I trust that all remains well at Winterfell. We shall rest here for a day whilst the men source carriages and provisions for our journey._

A knock at the door heralded the innkeep and a group of servants. Two men carried a tin tub, which the innkeep directed to be set up in front of the fire in Sansa’s bedchamber. Her maids had already ordered her a meal of roasted beef and vegetables and an apple cake – no fish, she thought thankfully – and now her bath was to be filled.

Gathering her letters, she asked the innkeep to have them taken to the rookery. All were rolled and sealed, and she had folded them into pages which indicated where each was to be sent. She had sent several from the ship when they approached shore, but had not wished to entirely deplete the captain’s supply of ravens.

Sansa sighed as she sank into the water. What a thing it was to have fresh water to bathe in, rather than cold salt water drawn up from the seas. She leaned back and scrubbed at her hair, letting it float in the warm water. Although it was cold outside, the fire had warmed her rooms, and she did not stir from the tub until the water began to cool. She donned thick socks and a warm nightgown and robe, returning to her sitting room to dine. The maids rang for the bath to be cleared away – the inn had an intricate system of pipes leading down from the roof, so the serving men had merely to remove the water in buckets and pour it out her window, until the tub was light enough for them to lift and pour out the remaining water. She asked that they bring water for her handmaidens also, leaving the tub for them beside the fire in her bedchamber while she sat in the sitting room to write letters.

> _From Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, to Ser Brienne Lannister of Tarth, Queen of the Westerlands._
> 
> _My dear sister Brienne,_
> 
> _I am safely arrived at White Harbour, and will continue my journey to Winterfell after a day of rest. For tonight, I rest in a cosy inn, with a featherbed and a warm bath; after some twenty days at sea, I confess myself delighted to once again have a bed that does not rock. I am eager to return to Winterfell, but I confess that I am also a little apprehensive. I have valued your company greatly, dear friend, and shall miss the bustle of our days there (although I shall not miss the threat, nor the dragons and the Dragon Queen’s hungry armies). It seems strange to be returning alone, without Jon, Arya, and Bran, without you and Ser Podrick, without Tyrion – even without Ser Jaime, although please do not tell him that I include his name amongst those whom I miss. I think that I shall have to keep myself occupied so that I do not feel lonely; six months seem an age when I shall not see my love until they are past._
> 
> _I shall send this raven to you at Casterly Rock, and eagerly await your descriptions of the fabled home of the Lannisters._

There was one more letter that she wrote that evening, and she spent time over it, thinking through the words that she wished to write.

> _My dear brother,_
> 
> _Cousin you may be in truth, but I was raised to think of you as my brother and so I shall continue._
> 
> _I have arrived in the North, at White Harbour, and will shortly set out for Winterfell. I trust that you are settled well at Castle Black, and that you have found some peace there. Know, Jon, that you will always be welcome in the North and at Winterfell. I hope that we will meet again._
> 
> _You should know that Tyrion and I were married before I left King’s Landing. He will join me in the North after his time with Bran is passed._
> 
> _Your loving sister_

Sansa breathed deeply. She had allowed herself this time to be melancholy, but now she must be strong. There would be no tears at Winterfell – and if there were tears at White Harbour, only her pillow and the linens on her bed would know.

> _My dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _If there is anything so lovely after weeks at sea as a warm bath, a clean nightgown, and a roast dinner (as opposed to fish, which quite turns my stomach after so long at sea), I have yet to discover it. I know that you understand this sentiment; I seem to remember that you are no keen sea-farer._
> 
> _Spare me my blushes, my love. I am sure that you can suggest other enjoyable activities, but I for the moment I am simply delighted to once again be clean._

She slept deeply, and when she awoke she donned a clean gown and had her handmaidens brush her hair, leaving it loose and shining save for a simple braid. Her furs had been brushed and cleaned, and were ready for her to wear. There were still many days until they reached Winterfell, but she would not hide herself from her people on the journey.

After sending for her men-at-arms, she sent them out to hire a pair of wagons and drivers and to retrieve their horses for their travels. As a small group, they would rest at inns along the way, but they would nevertheless carry warm furs and some food for their journey. The weather in the North could be unpredictable; it was as well to ensure that their entire party could rest in the wagons if required to do so. As well, she sent her handmaidens to buy supplies: nuts and dried fruits, soaps and lotions. She had learned from Tyrion the value of custom; her servants and men-at-arms would spread the word that she had returned a Queen, and the people of the North would see her generosity. Once they had secured their transportation and had made their purchases, she told them, they should take time to rest; the journey to Winterfell was never easy, and was made more difficult still by the chill of winter and by the snow and ice that it brought. Sansa herself spent the day quietly in her chambers at the inn, more tired from the sea journey than she had anticipated, sitting quietly by the fire and thinking of her future.

> _Dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _I have been very lazy today, almost shamefully so. I sewed a little, slept a little, sat beside the fire and thought about the North (and, I confess, about you, my love). On the morrow, we set out for Winterfell, and I must be seen – but today I have been at rest, for perhaps the first time in many years. I cannot say that I enjoy being idle, but think that I should enjoy it more with you by my side. We shall be very lazy sometimes, when you have come to me, although a great deal of work awaits us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 ravens; that makes 53.


	10. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More and more people arrive at Storm's End; Tyrion asks the important questions; one of Gendry's problems is solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much later than I usually post, sorry -- had an astonishingly busy day and am only now winding down. I hope you will enjoy x

The Lords and Ladies of the Stormlands kept arriving at Storm’s End, and Tyrion was beginning to lose patience with them all. The Conningtons grew ever more annoying, although the Ladies Fell, Errol and Lady Gower had taken Alynne under their wing, leading to an already marked improvement in her behaviour. The Castellan Ser Gilbert complained to Davos that the Pennylover had asked to see the castle’s accounts – “I am certain that you would benefit from my advice on how to save coin.” Gendry had made short shrift of that request, assuring Lord Staedmon that he would gladly show him the castle’s ledgers once he had seen those from Broadarch and had had his clerks review the taxation tallies.

> _You would have thought that guest-right also conferred the right to inspect our coffers and inventory our smallclothes, from the way he demanded to see the accounts, my love. Which reminds me – I will gladly look at your ledgers and correspondence, but only if you wish it of me. I should warn you, however, that I am rather bad at doing nothing and quite dreadful at looking pretty, so you had best find me something to keep me occupied._

Lord Buckler kept to himself, mostly in his own chambers, while his nephew Hugh – like Ser Gerald and Lady Gower, Lady Fell, and Sebastion and Lady Errol – had offered Lord Gendry his services “in whatever way would be most helpful.” Gendry had set him and Sebastion Errol to looking after the younger boys – Kerron Gower and Edric Storm – they practised swordplay with wooden swords in the mornings, and spent the afternoons exploring the upper floors of Storm’s End. For Hugh, who at 30 was scarcely younger than Tyrion, these sessions were a task – albeit one that was enjoyable – but for the young boys and even for Sebastion Errol they were a chance to play.

> _To King Jaime Lannister of the Westerlands, Knight of the Six or possibly Seven Kingdoms, and Queen Brienne Lannister of the Westerlands and Tarth, Knight of the same (probably, unless my wife really wishes to single out my dear brother)_
> 
> _I remain at Storm’s End, trying to sort out the mess of noble families and extinct families and halls and lordships (and ladyships). If all goes well, I should leave here in a sevenday; knowing that _ ** not ** _all will go well, I hope to leave in twelve days or so. I do trust that our failure to take the country to war in a squabble for the throne has preserved rather more families and houses than remain here._
> 
> _I have some young lords and heirs who would do well, I think, to be fostered elsewhere. I have in mind to send them to King’s Landing to bolster Bran’s forces, but must ask whether you would be opposed to taking a few lads to train there. It might appear rather pointed to send Robert Baratheon’s bastard Edric Storm to be fostered where his father once ruled._
> 
> _Tell me, please, of how many kingdoms are you knights? I should perhaps ask my wife, but would value your thoughts on the matter._

There was news that day of two further extinct houses – House Cafferen and House Trant. Tyrion remembered Ser Meryn Trant, the former Lord of Gallowsgrey, as a vicious man, who had been loyal to Joffrey despite his cruel and vindictive nature. He could not be sorry to see the man’s line come to an end, although it left him yet another castle in want of a master. Similarly, the last cousin of the former Lord Cafferen had recently died, leaving Fawnton in a similar state.

> _I tire of old men with no issue, my dearest. I hope that we shall not be counted among those. Let us fill our home with fierce daughters and beautiful sons, so that Winterfell will always have its pack of wolves and lions._
> 
> _Adding to the news of two more extinct houses, three such old men arrived here today. Hugh Grandison, called Greybeard, is Lord of Grandview. He might more accurately be called Whitebeard, for age has taken its toll. He is accompanied by his castellan, Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, a prideful man grown old and stooped – we think he must have some four score years at least. Neither man has children, neither man has heirs, neither man has any benighted suggestions of potential heirs, simply more headaches for Gendry, Davos and your own husband. _
> 
> _And if this were not enough, not long after noon Ser Bonifer Hasty appeared at the doors – dressed in robes that ape the hessians worn by the most devout of Septons. They call him Bonifer the Good but Dull is oftentimes a synonym for good and I fear it is so in this case. When he is not praying to the Seven, or telling stories of Rhaella Targaryen (“She was a beauty”), he disapproves of any joking or jesting. _

Tyrion sighed. He feared that he was being unkind, but he was sorely tried both by the men who had arrived and by the news that two further houses had become extinct. He would need to confer with Ser Davos and Lord Gendry about how best to refill the houses and protect and govern the Stormlands.

> _My dearest, I realise that most of my missives are quite trivial, however I have a pressing question for you. Of how many kingdoms are Jaime and Brienne (and Podrick) knights? Of the Seven Kingdoms, including the North (this is what I expect), or merely of Bran’s Six? And do all knights share that same number, or is there a special trick to becoming (possibly) a knight of the Seven Kingdoms. For example, would you consider Ser Davos a knight of the Seven Kingdoms? Ser Bronn? Do you anticipate that there might one day be Northern Knights whose knighthood is not recognised in the South?_

The following morning, Lady Fell came to Tyrion even before he had broken his fast, with an intriguing proposal. He at once sent for Ser Davos, who agreed that it should be put to Gendry with all speed.

> _I wrote to you, I believe, of Lady Fell, widow of Lord Fell of Fawnton. The lady has ruled for three years since her lord’s death and desires neither to rule nor to remarry. I had thought perhaps to marry her to Lord Buckler, but she has a better suggestion. She proposes that she come to Storm’s End to act as a sort of lady housekeeper, managing the castle and its servants and taking on some of the tasks that have so eluded Ser Gilbert. _
> 
> _I think this an excellent notion. Our young lord has noted several times that he scarcely knows which end of a fork to use; Lady Fell is as demonstrably familiar with tableware as she is with household management. I believe that she will guide and support Gendry as he learns his place here, and will make a gracious and welcoming hostess for his guests._
> 
> _She is not to be a servant, you understand, but a guest and member of the Storm’s End household. Should the arrangement not work, either now or in the future, she will retire to a city where she can live out her days in comfort. And should she wish to remarry – she is, after all, still a young woman – she will have the support of her lord._

Gendry was enthusiastic in his welcome of Lady Fell’s proposal. He immediately ordered a set of apartments cleared and cleaned for her; Tyrion and Davos had to dissuade him from vacating his own apartments, which were larger and more pleasant than the others in the castle. He offered to send wagons to Felwood to collect anything she wished retrieved – including any servants that she wished to bring to Storm’s End. She deterred him gently, suggesting that her household could wait until his guests had departed and, she hoped, a new lord of Felwood had been named.

> _Your Grace,_
> 
> _We have added to Lord Gendry’s household here at Storm’s End; Lady Fell, formerly of Felwood, is to move to the castle to act as Lady-Housekeeper for our young Lord, seeing to the proprieties and to the castle in ways that the Castellan Ser Gilbert has been unable to do. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 more ravens makes 59.  
I have never stopped to wonder how many bedchambers there might be in Storm's End, but they are going to take quite a beating before this stage is done.


	11. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More arrivals, more letters, and a reminder that an omniscient king can be kind of creepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT an "evil creepy Bran" story, but he does recognise that it's good for Tyrion to be reminded that - like Santa - he can see everything.
> 
> There is a long and rambling question in the footer.

The guests at Storm’s End had by now divided into groups, and tended to sit together at mealtimes and find ways to occupy themselves together during the days. Tyrion found them easier to keep in his head this way.

> _There are four groups among our guests, my love, each quite distinct from the other. The first is the Unmarryables; those who lack heirs and whose halls are shortly to be lordless. Here, I count Ser Bonifer the Boring, Ser Humfrey Wagstaff, Hugh Grandison. To be honest, I care little about these men, but deeply about their halls. I should include the extinct houses whose halls were Felwood, Fawnton, Crow’s Nest and Gallowsgrey amongst this group._
> 
> _Then there are the Unmarrieds – thus far, the Pennylover and Lord Buckler. Of these, the Pennylover seeks an unpaid housekeeper and Buckler is unconcerned with women. At least Buckler has an heir; that is one less family tree that need concern me._
> 
> _Lest you think I have forgotten Lady Bolina Errol, she, together with Lord and Lady Gower, Hugh Buckler, and Lady Fell, sits firmly in the third group, which I call the Usefuls. Each has found their place and occupies it wisely. They will provide strong counsel for the Stormlands and their support for Gendry will be crucial._
> 
> _Lastly, we have the Underage: Sebastion Errol, Kerron Gower, and Edric Storm. Sebastion Errol is already lord of a Hall, Kerron Gower is heir to a prosperous Hall, and we shall find one for Edric Storm._
> 
> _You will see that I have not included the Connington duo here. If they sit anywhere, it is with our last group, who will need support and mentorship if they are to be successful. _
> 
> _I must send this quickly, and trust that the raven will fly true._

A mostly-pleasant surprise was a raven from the King, which brought good tidings.

> _Lord Tyrion,_
> 
> _Kindly tell Lord Gendry how pleased I am to hear that matters are progressing so well in the Stormlands. I look forward to meeting lord Edric Baratheon and will gladly host the young man and his foster-brother here for a time. You may reassure Lord and Lady Gower that the boys will be well cared for. Perhaps you would ask King Jaime whether he and Queen Brienne would take them when they are a little older._
> 
> _All is well in King’s Landing, and my Lord Uncle is a capable messenger. I believe we may have some interesting news of our own shortly, which may alleviate one of your own problems._

Carefully not thinking about what it meant that Bran knew the name of the boy he had been so careful not to name in his letter, Tyrion took the message to Gendry and Davos, who called for Lord and Lady Gower. “The King means to legitimise Edric Storm,” he explained to them, “and we shall find a Keep for him in the Stormlands. For now, when he is ready, he and your son will be welcome in King’s Landing to begin their training – and, if they choose, they may go on the Casterly Rock to train with my brother and Ser Brienne.

Lady Gower chuckled. “_If_ they choose?” she asked with a smile. “You heard the boys last night, my lord. I think they would gladly walk to Casterly Rock on their own.”

“Perhaps,” said Ser Davos, “we should wait before we speak of this.”

Gendry nodded thoughtfully. “I would like to tell my brother that he is to be legitimised,” he said, “but there is no urgency for the rest of the discussion.” He looked at Lord and Lady Gower. “And the boys need not go to King’s Landing until they – and you – are ready.”

Lord Gower pressed a hand gently on his lady’s shoulder. “I do not know that we will ever be ready,” he said, “but I believe that the boys are. Young men can find themselves in all manner of mischief if they are left too long to their own devices.”

His lady nodded, although she pressed a piece of cloth to damp eyes. “My lord is correct,” she said. “The boys should accompany you when you leave for King’s Landing, Lord Tyrion.”

> _I felt a beast, my love, taking her lads away from her. Ser Davos tells me that the Gowers have no other children; it is clearly a wrench for her. I shall suggest that Lady Gower can accompany us if she wishes, or otherwise ask your brother to invite her to court in a few months’ time, to see that they are settled._

There were only two arrivals on the fifth day. To Tyrion’s surprise, both seemed likely to fit the Usefuls. The first to arrive was the heir to Lord Gulian Swann of Stonehelm. He rode up with a group of ten men at arms and little ceremony.

> _Today’s new guest was Ser Donnel Swann, the heir to Stonehelm. Jaime once observed that Ser Donnel had sworn allegiance to all four of the Baratheon kings – Renly, Stannis, Joffrey and Tommen – and suggested that he might perhaps be known as Ser Donnel the Constant. I prefer Ser Donnel the Weathervane. He seems delighted to have yet another Baratheon to whom he can offer his fealty. _
> 
> _The man appears competent enough, as does his wife Lady Shanya. His son remains at Stonehelm with his grandfather, but they have brought their daughters – presumably hoping to find them husbands. I cannot fault this. It is difficult to know whether his father’s absence is due to genuine ill-health or to some doubt about Gendry’s role here; perhaps they are seeking a sixth king to support. _
> 
> _I shall make a point of introducing him to Edric Baratheon while he is here – yes, my love, your brother is to legitimise the boy; I think that we shall give him Fawnton when he is of age. It is said to be a pleasant and well-kept Hall, not too distant from Storm’s End but not too close either._

The second arrival – not long before the sun began to set – was Lady Mary Mertyns of Mistwood. She brought her son Ser Jorel and grandson Michly, but explained that she had left the remainder of her family at home rather than overwhelm her new lord: “I have two surviving sons and eight grandsons, aged between seven and thirty, together with four good-daughters and two good-granddaughters, with a great grandchild on the way. They will all follow our lead, but I thought you would not need all eighteen of us descending on you at once.”

Gendry could only agree as the elderly lady strode forward, her cane seemingly an extension of her body. He hurried to get her a chair.

“Well let me get a look at you, lad,” she said, leaning closer. “One of Robert’s get, were you.”

Ser Davos coughed. “Lord Gendry was legitimised by Queen Daenerys and by King Brandon,” he observed.

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t a bastard first,” the old woman cackled. “In fact, that’s usually what legitimised DOES mean. Now what have you been up to, lad. I heard you were up at Winterfell.”

Gendry nodded.

“Fighting, were you? Well, speak up.”

With a flick of his eyes to Tyrion, Gendry sighed. “I did fight in the battle, my lady, but before that, I was a blacksmith. I forged weapons from the dragonglass that came to us from Dragonstone.”

“Well you speak well enough, and blacksmithing is good honest work. And you have good advisors here.” She looked approvingly at Ser Davos. “I’m glad you weren’t just lounging around like some of my grandsons would like to do. Not Michly here,” the young man jumped at his grandmother’s words, “but some of his cousins need a good poke in the arse every now and then.”

Tyrion tried in vain to conceal his grin.

“No chuckling over there young man,” she said, aiming a glare in his direction. “I may be old but my eyes are still good, thank the Seven. I hear you’re clever for all that you are small and a Lannister.”

He bowed. “I have not heard that one’s height has a great deal to do with one’s intelligence,” he said, “or perhaps Robert would still be on the throne.”

She laughed at that, looking from him to Gendry. “Well you will do nicely, young man. I think well of you for not putting on airs. You have our support –” she glanced at Tyrion – “and you can pass that to the Stark boy as well. Ned Stark had a good head on his shoulders until your nasty nephew took it off.”

Lady Fell hurried into the room. “Lady Mertyns,” she greeted. “We have had an apartment prepared for you, if you would like to rest from your journey.”

The lady raised an eyebrow, and Ser Davos stepped forward. “Lady Fell will be acting as Lord Gendry’s lady-housekeeper and hostess,” he hurried to explain.

Lady Mertyns nodded her approval. “Another wise decision, young man. You’re already well ahead of your sire.”

With that, she stood and shook out her skirts, then swept out of the room, Lady Fell, Ser Jorel and Michly following close behind.

> _I had heard, my dearest, that Lady Mary was some sort of cousin to Olenna Tyrell – and I can quite believe it. She had us all quaking in our boots! Her support will be valuable to Lord Gendry within the Stormlands – largely, I feel, because none would dare to gainsay her! I like her son Ser Jorel as well, although he is very much in his mother’s shadow._
> 
> _I must hurry to send this before we dine. I think of you every night, and try to sit at my window in that hour after dusk – although as occupied as we are now, I am sometimes a little behindhand. Nevertheless, I think that you must know that I think of you and am counting the days until we can meet again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And 5 makes 64. YEAH NAH 65 remember I miscounted a while back? This actually sets up something perfect in the next chapter.
> 
> Someone asked whether we will see responses to these letters, or will see what's up at Casterly Rock and at King's Landing. Tyrion will return to King's Landing, so we will definitely visit there, and there will be news from Casterly Rock and of course Sansa's letters from Winterfell. 
> 
> Time travels slowly in Westeros - at least, people travel slowly. My chart says that, counting from when Jaime and Brienne met again in A Second Chance, we are on Day 33.  
Sansa reaches Winterfell on Day 37 or 38 (she and Tyrion had their surprise wedding on Day 10, before she left for the North).   
Jaime and Brienne went the long way around, with the wedding on Tarth, and don't reach Casterly Rock until Day 47.   
And Tyrion's final day in Bran's service (6 months from Day 9) will be Day 177; 169 days after he and Sansa were wed. He's counting down, she's counting up, Jaime and Brienne count since their wedding (Day 18), Bran counts since his coronation (Day 8), it's all a huge steaming mess and THIS IS WHY STANDARDISED CALENDARS ARE IMPORTANT, PEOPLE.  
It's also why it's great that Jaime and Brienne decided to have their coronation on Day 51, JUST LIKE SANSA. At least there's a common date there somewhere.
> 
> There's no Westerosi calendar afaik so I can't say "it's the fifth day of the Maidenmoon" or anything like that. (If there IS something like this, I confess my extreme stupidity and would love to position this in that context). Would it be helpful (for those of you who worry about these things, as I do) if I included a day count in the end notes, as well as the raven count? Or at least a reference to what is happening elsewhere - in A Second Chance, at least? (FTR: we're in Chapter 67, the travel fast-forward. Jaime and Brienne et al are somewhere on the way to the West - either in the Riverlands or just into The Reach).
> 
> I suspect that the answer to these questions is that 98% of people don't care at all, and 3 people care VERY EXTREMELY MUCH and the rest of you are sort of meh, I guess. So because I would totally be one of the three, I will try to start to include this.


	12. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A raven arrives from an old friend, and Lady Mary is Lady Mary.

> _My dearest wife,_
> 
> _It is very late and I really must sleep, but first I must tell you of the events of the evening before I forget them._
> 
> _It will not surprise you, given my last letter, to hear that Lady Mary had a great deal to say about just about everything. She gave the Unmarriageables a good telling-off, pointing to her own seventeen sons and grandsons as an example of what they should have been doing over the past fifty years or so. Fortunately, we were spared the details. She put Alynne Connington resoundingly in her place and suggested that if she had a mother she would have sewn up her gowns a little more convincingly. _
> 
> _And then there was Raymund Connington. "I knew Jon Connington's mother, who was more a Connington than you would ever be,” she said. “Poor woman must be spinning in her grave right now." I almost felt sorry for him._
> 
> _I realise that from what I have reported, you might think her a right old terror. But I told you that she reminds me very much of her cousin Olenna; I have also seen her be kind. Young Sebastion Errol said something very foolish at table tonight and she glanced over at him. The poor boy began to stammer and stumble, and she smiled at him and put him at his ease. “If I had a gold Dragon for every foolish thing I had ever said or done,” she said, “I’d be so weighed down I’d never go anywhere. Don’t fret yourself, lad. Look at my grandson Michly there. He’s around your age. A silly lad, but he means well.”_
> 
> _I foresee another young man to be sent to King’s Landing – and likely to Casterly Rock, if he shows promise. Perhaps instead of taking up their crowns Jaime and Brienne should have opened a school at Casterly Rock._
> 
> _I suspect, meanwhile, that the Mertyns family may be set to repopulating some of the more southern keeps and halls in the Stormlands. It is a shame that all her children were boys._

Lady Mary sought Tyrion out at breakfast the following morning, attempting to discern more of the state of the realm. She nodded approvingly when she heard that Jaime had married the Evenstar’s daughter – “nice girl, shame about her face but your Westerners are hardly going to worry about that when she’s a queen” and told him he’d done well for himself when she heard of his marriage to Sansa. “I met her father – a very solid man, although he did have a bit of a poker up his arse. I was never more surprised than when I heard he’d got himself a bastard.” Tyrion attempted to memorise her many comments to share with his wife later.

“You’ll be wanting some of my boys for King’s Landing,” she said. “I’d like to keep some of them here, let them take turns.” Tyrion nodded. “I hear you’re taking the Gower boy and the other Baratheon with you,” she continued. “I’ll send Michly as well – and you could do worse than take the Errol boy and Hugh Buckler. Let them go as a group.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “I’d take it kindly if you would get your brother and his wife to have a look at any of them that show some promise.” Tyrion nodded solemnly.

> _Brienne and Jaime,_
> 
> _You should consider charging coin for training. I feel that I have become your recruiting agent. Every man and woman wants their charges to be trained by the famous Knights. They say that they will send them to Bran in King’s Landing but invariably follow with a question about Casterly Rock._

Another Unmarriageable arrived that day – Lord Penrose of Parchments. Davos welcomed him warmly, settling him in a chair beside the fire.

“I’m worried for him,” he said to Gendry and Tyrion when they were alone. “He shouldn’t have come this far with his failing health. But he has no heir to succeed him, and he did not wish to be behindhand in promising his allegiance.”

He was followed by Ser Addam Whitehead, heir to old Lord Whitehead of the Weeping Town, and Casper Wylde, Lord of the Rain House, who had met up on their journey to Storm’s End. Of a similar age to Hugh Buckler, the men were jovial and friendly. Although they were but a couple of years younger, they made Tyrion feel old and tired. He smirked at the thought of showing the men Lord Casper’s illustrious ancestor’s erotic literary masterpiece; fortunately, Ser Davos had been before him and had hidden the work somewhere in the castle.

> _Both young men were admiring Alynne Connington tonight, my love. Little as I can like her, we shall need to make some matches here in the Stormlands. And both of these men live some distance from Storm’s End. I suppose that that means young Raymund will get Griffin’s Roost – I cannot like it, but I have yet to find any alternative._

A raven arrived for Tyrion that day. He felt his heart leap in hope that it would be from Sansa – but no, she had no reason to believe that he would have visited the Stormlands, much less for such a protracted time. The paper it carried was crumpled, the writing little more than a scrawl, but if the hand had not been familiar then the language would have been.

> _Tyrion, you raging cunt. Why did you not warn me what being Lord of Highgarden would entail? If it’s not accounts and crop yields, it’s week-long negotiation between merchants who have been around Westeros a few times and are more bent than a row of bloody Kingsguard. The King says you’re in the Stormlands still. Any chance you have a cosy little Hall going begging? Maybe a lonely daughter needing a husband to fill her belly and look after her hall? I’ve told the king he can give Highgarden to whoever wants it. I’ll be heading down to Storm’s End to see what you can do for me down there. _

Tyrion sent a silent thanks to the dull merchants, drawing forward a sheet of parchment to pen a new letter.

> _Your Grace,_
> 
> _When you wrote of ‘interesting’ news, I believe you were referring to your erstwhile Master of Coin. This news is indeed interesting, and we shall look forward to receiving him here. I believe that he may represent a solution to two of my most pressing problems. Meanwhile, if I may offer some advice, Highgarden has significant value. You might consider retaining it as a Crown holding. _

The ravens he sent to Casterly Rock and to Winterfell were rather less circumspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7 ravens. Total is actually 72 because I miscounted a couple of chapters back. Coincidentally, Bronn’s raven was number 69. His favourite number.
> 
> DAY 33-34.


	13. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work continues at Storm's End.

> _My dearest love,_
> 
> _We have had a day of peace today – no new arrivals, for which I thank the Seven, the road builders, the lords of the keeps, the weather and anything else that I can think of. I am fatigued of all the new faces, and the not-so-subtle questions about your brother’s plans for the realm. News of our marriage does not seem to have reached the Stormlands and I confess I have not shared it; let there be something to surprise these people at the formal ceremony where they will be called upon to swear their fealty. As the Imp, it has ever been my duty to give people something to talk about; let us trust that I shall do better as the Consort of the North._
> 
> _I have realised that it is foolish to wait for you to send word about the bees. Unless I have miscalculated, you will still be travelling to Winterfell, and this letter will take a further week to reach you. By the time you might respond, I hope to have returned to King’s Landing. I have asked Boryn the Beekeep to prepare two score frames of bees as well as some pots of honey and of honeycomb. It will not arrive in time for your market, love, but I trust that it will nevertheless be welcome to you. I shall send wood for hives, also – I know that your wood supplies are required for repairs to Winterfell – but perhaps in the meantime your carpenters can make use of any offcuts._
> 
> _I have discussed my thoughts about Ser Bronn with Lord Gendry and Ser Davos, who agree that he could be useful here in the Stormlands. I shall confess to you that I am relieved that Highgarden will not remain with one so unpredictable. I have advised your brother to put it in the hands of a trusted steward rather than to award it to any lord, for at least the immediate future._

They used the unexpected quiet to regroup. Gendry and Davos spent much of the morning in the library, where Lady Fell joined them for a time. Later, ravens were sent to Casterly Rock, to Tarth, to Winterfell, and to King’s Landing.

A message from King Bran sent Tyrion to the training yards, which were occupied only by the young men who were visiting the castle, under the capable eye of Hugh Buckler.

> _Your brother king Jaime has suggested that we call an army from the Crown Protectorates. I see the wisdom in this recommendation, and request that you commission Ser Davos and Lord Gendry to assemble not only their own force of men at arms but also 100 men to be sent to King’s Landing. I realise that this may take some time; we have it. In time, the force will grow, but we must make our start._

At noon, they paused their work to take counsel from their lords and ladies. Speaking in agreement with one another, and on behalf of their respective lords, Ser Davos and Tyrion required that each hall send a force of twenty fighting men (“or women,” Tyrion interjected) to Storm’s End. Of those twenty, up to five could be young, and would be trained at Storm’s End and King’s Landing “and wherever else His Grace sees fit to send them” and up to five could be older men, past their prime, whose duties would focus more on staffing watchhouses and training the younger ones. Raymund Connington was the only one to bluster. He was quickly put in his place by Mary Mertyns, who cheerfully offered to send forty “if Griffin’s Roost has no men, let alone any to spare.”

Beyond defence of the realm, however, talk was focused on the problems in the Stormlands. Most notably, the condition of the roads was a concern; few were paved, and the long Winter had turned many to slush. Even this far south, there had been few crops and the animals were underweight although nobody was starving. The forests, in contrast, were overgrown and would need thinning to ensure that the young trees did not take root where they could not grow. Tyrion’s proposal that the young trees – while still dormant due to the cold – might be removed from the ground and wrapped in sacks to be sent to the North and to the Riverlands, where Daenery’s dragons had decimated the forests – was well received. A further concern was the many empty halls, as well as those that would shortly become empty. Davos charged the Unmarryables to consider whether they might find an heir amongst their people, although those numbers too had been decimated by the wars.

Davos’s announcement that Lord Gendry was to gift ten frames of bees to each hall was met with gratitude – and with a platter of Dornish honey cakes to finish the meal. Light and flaky, the cakes comprised layers of sweet pastry and honey, with crushed nuts to finish.

“And how have you lads been spending your days?” the Hand of the Stormlands asked Kerron Gower and Edric Storm as the boys reached for their third (or was it their fifth) honey cakes.

“Hugh and Michly and Lord Sebastion have been teaching us to fight,” said young Lord Kerron. “Will you come and watch us this afternoon? Edric is stronger than I, but I am faster.”

“We should make an event of it,” declared Lady Fell, glancing around at her guests. Edric grinned, turning to Raymund Connington. “Will you fight with us? That would make six, with Sebastion and Michly and Hugh.”

The young would-be-lord frowned. “I will not. There are more important things to do than to play with swords.”

“I’ll join you,” said Casper Wylde, “although I’m afraid I’m not much good with a sword. I was always better with books.” Tyrion suppressed a snicker at the thought of a certain book that was waiting for Casper Wylde – once he found where Ser Davos had hidden it.

“Marvellous!” said Lord Kerron, who had turned instead to Lord Gendry. “Lord Gendry says he will show us how to use a war hammer, and Ser Addam Whitehead has offered to adjudicate.”

Tyrion frowned to himself, seeing Raymund Connington flush angrily. This time, the boys had not intended a deliberate slight, but the unfortunate timing of Kerron’s request had made it appear as such. It would not do to make enemies in the Stormlands, although the Connington boy was clearly unfit to rule as the lord of Griffin’s Roost.

> _I find myself at a loss, my love. We cannot in good conscience confirm the boy in any sort of leadership role, but he has clearly come to expect it – and with some reason, I admit. I have other plans for his sister that do not include Griffin’s Roost, should she be amenable. Little as I wish to fall back upon my brother, I wonder whether he might be the best person to take on the boy. It crossed my mind, I confess, to send him North for a good dose of your Northern stoicism. His high opinion of himself is coupled with a contempt for others that I cannot like. Unless I am misremembering, he was in attendance at your brother’s coronation and was put firmly in his place by either you or Jaime._
> 
> _Meanwhile, we are in need almost of a breeding program – we have too few people for the halls that are not yet extinct, let alone the remainder. Might I say how much I look forward to doing my part for the repopulation of the North, my love. …_

The remainder of Tyrion’s message spoke of love and longing, of his wish to be with his wife and, finally, of desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven ravens today, which takes us to 79.  
And this was Day 35. In A Second Chance, Jaime and Brienne are travelling through The Reach. And Sansa is just a couple of days out from Winterfell.
> 
> I'm sliding towards daily updates, at least during the week. I've got ahead of myself, and want to keep the story moving.


	14. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More family, and an unexpected lord.

The remaining Lords and Ladies of the Stormlands arrived on the following day.

The first to arrive was Ser Aemon Estermont, Lord of Greenstone. He arrived in a swirl of fine dark green wool that matched his arms, bringing seemingly his entire family – his wife Lady Bridget, son Alyn, daughters Adeline and Amelie, and nephew Ser Andrew Estermont, whom Edric greeted with a shout of delight. Ser Aemon greeted Gendry with familiarity, grasping his arm and pulling him into a hug. “I’m your uncle Aemon, lad, and these are your cousins. Of a kind, anyway. Come here, Bridget – this is your aunt Bridget, lad, and glad we are to have you here.” Lady Estermont at least had the grace to curtsey before her new lord before approaching to kiss him on the cheek and tell him how glad she was to meet him.

> _It could have gone either way, my love. Gendry would have been entirely within his rights to repress such familiarity – but I am pleased that he did not. It will be good for him to have strong ties to the houses of the Stormlands – particularly those which might have been able to formulate a claim on Storm’s End – and those girls will need husbands, spreading that goodwill across the region. At one-and-twenty and nineteen, I am surprised that they are not yet wed, however I suppose their unwed state speaks to the dearth of men in these parts. I like them, I will say; they are pleasant enough to look upon and lively in character. I fancy that Lady Adeline, the elder of the two, has mischief enough for both of them; Lady Amelie reminds me a little of you, in that she seems to have an innate composure. She seems older than her years._
> 
> _Ser Davos tells us that Estermont is a good man, if indecisive, and I was impressed by the younger generation (do I sound as old as Mary Mertyns yet?). Ser Andrew spent some time with young Edric in the past; I have in mind to send him to Pod for a stint as Kingsguard before we find him a hall of his own down here. Bluff and hail-fellow-well-met as Estermont the elder is, I fancy he is canny and may well have considered the same._

The final three lords arrived together, late in the day. Lord Arstan Selmy from Harvest Hall was a man of around forty years. He brought with him his wife Lady Maud and their two youngest children, Maribel and Honry, aged eight and ten. The couple had four older children who had remained at Harvest Hall: “We’ve left Osmond and Syl with Tibbie and Dora to have a try at running the hall,” explained Lady Maud later that evening. “We’ve promised they can come with us the next time we visit.”

The next to be introduced was Ser Rolland Storm, known as the Pretender Lord of Nightsong. “I’m a bastard,” he said frankly, “but I’ve been holding the castle. I believe that King Joffrey offered it to Ser Philip Foote after he killed my half brother at the Battle of the Blackwater. He’s never come to claim it, though, so I have stayed.”

“It sounds to me,” said Tyrion, seeing that Davos smiled upon the man, “as though possession is what matters here.” He had no love for Ser Philip, whose testimony against him had nearly led to his death before his escape to Essos. Ser Rolland was accompanied by his wife Lady Sulie, who was visibly pregnant.

The last of the lords to be introduced was Lord Dondarrion of Blackhaven. The lord stepped forward, still wearing his hooded cloak of black and lilac – then shook off his hood to reveal no lord but a woman of about thirty years. Tyrion looked closely, then stepped forward, bowing. “Unless I am very much mistaken, I believe that we met once in King’s Landing, my lady,” he said, “not long after your brother knighted my own.”

She smiled sadly at him. “We did indeed, Lord Tyrion.”

Tyrion turned to Gendry. “My lord, allow me to introduce Lady Allyria Dayne.” The lady curtsied. “But tell me, Lady Allyria, how you are here as a Dondarrion. I saw Lord Beric at Winterfell, and he did not mention a marriage.”

Lady Allyria smiled, a touch of bitterness about her tight mouth. “There was no marriage,” she said, “merely a betrothal. But when Ser Joffrey put a price on Lord Beric’s head, the people of Blackhaven sent for me, asking that I look after the keep as Lord Beric’s betrothed.” She shrugged. “I did not feel that I had a place at Starfall, so I moved myself to Blackhaven. And then Beric never returned, so I stayed.”

“He died honourably, you know,” Tyrion said gently.

Lady Allyria shrugged. “I did not really know him well,” she said, “we met only twice. I am sorry to hear of his death, however.” She paused and smiled. “I was glad to hear of your brother’s marriage and elevation. My brother Arthur thought very highly of him.”

> _I spoke privately with Lady Allyria, love. She is happy to remain at Blackhaven, but hopes to be wed “rather than eternally betrothed, spending my life in waiting.” I would find her someone worthy – perhaps a son or grandson of Mistwood. I think Lady Mary would approve of Allyria Dayne as a good-daughter, and I would not wish the Connington boy on her. _

> _My dear brother, you will be surprised to hear that I have this day been speaking with Lady Allyria Dayne, who has taken on the lordship of Blackhaven, the seat of House Dondarrion. She asks to be remembered to you, and would have me remind you of the high esteem in which her brother held you._
> 
> _Meanwhile, do you recall Ser Donnel Swann? Ser Donnel the Constant was your name for him, I believe – like so many Stormlanders, at one point or another, he swore allegiance to each of the Baratheon kings. That aside, I remember him as a competent knight and leader. I would value your thoughts on this, as we cannot send all the likely lads to King’s Landing or to you and Brienne at the Rock, and it would be valuable to Gendry to have a strong presence here also. Also on Ser Rolland Storm, if you have anything to say. Ser Andrew Estermont has also joined us, and I am thinking to give him a hall of his own._

> _Your Grace,_
> 
> _A change in the leadership at Blackhaven, where Lady Allyria Dayne rules as Lord Dondarrion. You will remember that Lord Beric perished at Winterfell; Lady Allyria was his betrothed, called upon by the people of Blackhaven in the absence of a lord of their own._
> 
> _The lady’s elder brother was Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard, who knighted my brother Jaime and who died at the Tower of Joy when your father and Howland Reed retrieved your cousin Jon. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 4 ravens. 83 so far.
> 
> DAY 36.
> 
> Also, a question – does anyone know whether Ser Donnel Swann was named for Donald Swann the composer and comic singer, who performed with Michael Flanders? Because that would be AWESOME.


	15. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three unexpected things happen - but not all before breakfast.

There were two unexpected guests the following morning, as well as an unexpected request. The first of these three was Lord Selwyn Tarth, with a score of fighting men from the island.

“I thought I should come and see how you’re getting on, lad,” he said to Gendry. “I know I’ve said my piece already, but one more supporter can’t hurt you. We’ve not had a meeting like this – with the other Lords of the Stormlands – for a great many years.”

Gendry smiled. “Thank you, my lord. I am glad to return your hospitality. Welcome to Storm’s End.”

Tyrion smiled at Lord Selwyn, gripping his forearm as the older man patted his shoulder. “Have you heard from your daughter, my lord?”

“There was a raven to say that they were in King’s Landing, some ten days ago,” Lord Selwyn replied. “They made good time, but I fear that they have a long journey ahead of them.”

Ser Davos, too, greeted the Evenstar with a smile, before leading him away to find Lady Fell and their other guests.

> _Dearest brother,_
> 
> _Your good-papa has arrived to support our young Gendry. It is a pleasure to see him. I fancy he would have me send greetings to your dear lady, and I fancy that she would be pleased to know that he is in the pink of health and good cheer. I shall seat him beside Lady Mary Mertyns – a true honour. I know that you thought highly of her cousin Olenna Tyrell – I wonder what has become of the remainder of the Redwynes._

The unexpected request was made shortly before the noonday meal. Lord Alesander Staedmon presented himself to Lord Gendry to request the hand of Lady Alynne Connington in marriage.

> _I was never more delighted to be a silent observer, my beloved. I was working in a corner of the library and I do not believe he knew that I was there. He hemmed and hawed for a time before bringing up the proposed match. Our Gendry had to tuck a hand under his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open in amazement. He called for Ser Davos to speak with the Pennylover – as neat a trick as ever I saw, as he was then able to leave the men alone – conveniently forgetting my presence. _
> 
> _“I shall not pretend to some great passion,” the man told Ser Davos, “but the wench is comely.” He looked away for a time, then – through simile, metaphor and a great deal of coughing – suggested – without actually stating anything out loud – that her flirtation had succeeded in stirring something that until recently had remained decidedly unstirred._
> 
> _“I shall discuss the matter with Lord Gendry and Lord Tyrion, as the representative of the King,” said Ser Davos, all courtesy and politeness, before the Pennylover left the room and the wily old knight turned directly to me – he had not forgotten._
> 
> _Gendry returned with Lady Fell, whose counsel he had sought. “We should ask Lady Alynne,” she suggested, for it would not be a bad match for her. She added that she had heard no ill of Lord Alesander, beyond that if ever a man could make a penny do the work of a Dragon it was he._
> 
> _Evidently that was sufficient, for Lady Alynne leapt at the chance. They are to be wed before they leave Storm’s End – “Why waste time travelling when we are both already here?” asked our loving husband-to-be. We have negotiated a settlement for her that includes a pair of handmaidens, four dresses a year to be provided by her husband, and an allowance – lest her husband forget what is due a wife._
> 
> _And there go my plans for Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, my dearest. Lord Staedmon’s budding romance has cast them into Shipbreaker’s Bay. I begin to suspect that I was not cut out for matchmaking._

Their second guest arrived later in the day, his horse overheated and exhausted from the run from King’s Landing. He brought two saddlebags, no more, and travelled alone, although he warned the stablehands that there would be a wagon in a sennight or so. He nodded to Gendry and Davos before greeting Tyrion like a long-lost friend: “What do I have to do to get something to drink around here? Feels like I’ve been riding for weeks – my arse thinks it’s ridden to Winterfell and back.”

“We had not looked to see you so soon, Ser Bronn,” said Tyrion cautiously – never forgetting that this man had been sent by Cersei to kill him and Jaime.

“Couldn’t stand to stay in that place another day,” Bronn responded. “I told your Raven King he can take Highgarden and stick it up his arse, if he can reach it in that chair of his. I thought I was getting a nice snug little keep, not a load of problems.” He turned to Gendry. “I’d heard you might have some empty halls down here that could use a lord.”

Tyrion coughed. “A lord, not a –”

Bronn rolled his eyes. “Tyrion you cunt, I didn’t come here to squabble. All I need is a nice snug little place and a cosy warm lady. I don’t mind a bit of my-lord-ing, but I don’t want to be dealing with merchants night and day when I could be in my bed.”

“We have not yet had the time to discuss your request,” Ser Davos replied formally. “I shall have you shown to a chamber.”

“No messing with the serving maids,” Tyrion added sharply, “or with our guests. There’s a brothel back in Bronzegate, but at Storm’s End you keep your hands to yourself.”

Bronn grinned. “I’m practically a cripple from my travels anyway,” he said with a smirk. “A bit of wine or ale and I’ll be happy as a lord.”

“And drunk as one as well, I’ll wager,” Tyrion responded as Bronn was shown from the room.

> _Your Grace,_
> 
> _Ser Bronn has arrived. I had thought to affiance him to one lady in particular, however she has found herself another. Rest assured, however, we will find him a place that will keep him well away from King’s Landing._

> _Jaime,_
> 
> _Can you believe it? The Pennylover has affianced himself to the young lady (I use the word in its most broad of terms) that I had picked out for Ser Bronn. Imagine the humiliation of being passed over for one such as he! I shall make sure to point this out to Ser Bronn at regular intervals. _
> 
> _This means that both the matches I had planned have been thwarted. I am considering hanging up my matchmaking cloak._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven count 5 – makes 88  
DAY 37  
Stay tuned for RayC’s comeuppance.  
No more chapters till my Monday though. It’s a full weekend.


	16. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a comeuppance to be had.

> **** _My dearest, what an evening we have had!_
> 
> _I wrote to you earlier of Lord Staedmon’s affiancing himself to Lady Alynne Connington. The lady was certain of her mind, and of her future lord, and Lord Gendry agreed to the match, albeit with some concerns about the 25 year difference in their ages._
> 
> _What nobody thought to do was to ask the brother what he thought. Or, apparently, to inform him of the arrangement._
> 
> _It was half way through the meal, at least, before the young man became aware of what was going on. Lady Fell had moved the seating cards – I think I have a rival matchmaker, my dearest – and had seated Lady Alynne beside her to-be lord husband. She, as usual, was more out of her gown than in it, which seemed to please Lord Alesander greatly. I confess, I found her charms to be somewhat less than charming, although I would not say no if you wished for a similarly styled gown to wear when we are private – your charms being quite delightfully charming indeed. _
> 
> _Young Raymund was some way down the table, past a merry group of guests that included Hugh Buckler, Alyn and Andrew Estermont, Lady Errol, Lady Allyria Dayne and the Estermont and Swann girls._
> 
> _Lady Alynne said something to one of the Estermont girls that they evidently found quite shocking – Hugh Buckler suggested to me later that it was quite vulgar and not to be repeated. When I pointed out that that is precisely the sort of comment that should be repeated, to me at least, he relented and said that Lady Alynne was quite aware of the stirring effect that she had on Lord Alesander, and boasted that she would have to do little more than drop her bodice to bring him to heel. The Estermont girl was quite shocked, of course, but gave as good as she received, responding that she in turn hoped to find a discerning and loving husband – with a strong emphasis on discerning. I fancy, from his smile in regaling me with the tale, that Hugh Buckler might see himself as rather a discerning type._
> 
> _Lady Alynne’s response was to return her attentions to Lord Alesander – when I say her attentions, my love, you may take it that I mean her breasts, for she was rubbing them against him and leaning forward as he peered into her bodice with quite the leering grin. Unfortunately, her brother saw this – and I could almost think the better of him for it – for he leapt from his seat and began shouting at the man, challenging him to a duel for the honour of his sister._
> 
> _Lady Alynne responded that she was to be much more than his sister, as the wife of Lord Alesander, and her brother asked by whose consent this match was to be made. When he heard her answer – that Gendry and I had blessed the match – he turned and rushed toward our young lord, drawing the dressy (and indubitably very blunt) sword that he affects. _
> 
> _Every man at the table stood, at that point, drawing their own swords (and, in my case, a very small but rather sharp dragonglass dagger that you might recall), and Gendry’s men at arms stepped in to hold Raymund by the arms and to remove his sword. His response was a foul-mouthed, angry diatribe about Gendry’s origins, which asserted both the illegitimacy of his rule, and the illegitimacy of the realm. _
> 
> _My love, we had no choice. I had been hoping that the young man might see sense, but instead he was the architect of his own ruin. Gendry would have been within his rights to take his head, given his attack upon his own lord and his treason against your brother. Instead, he is to be sent to Jon at Castle Black, or wherever your brother may be now._
> 
> _And meanwhile, I have yet another empty hall to fill or appoint a caretaker for, and my plans to match Bronn with Lady Alynne are lost._
> 
> _When it was all over, and Connington had been removed, to no concern from his sister, Lady Mary Mertyns turned to Lord Selwyn with a grin. “Be glad that your foolish schemes never succeeded,” she said. “Your daughter might have wed into that family, if you had had your way.” _
> 
> _Sansa, what is the history there? The Conningtons have been odd about Tarth all the while that they have been here. Surely you could ask your good-sister for the story._
> 
> _Your ever-loving (and very tired) husband_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s one more raven. 89  
Day 37 still. But very very late.  
Tomorrow, we’re in Winterfell.


	17. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa arrives in Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the many lovely comments. I absolutely appreciate every one. It's amazing to hear from readers xx

There were forty seven ravens waiting for her after her four week journey to Winterfell, thirty of them from Tyrion. Maester Wolkan had read them all, of course, or at least scanned them – she would have to have words with him about that – but he had left them stacked on her desk in her solar. Her husband’s habit of numbering the ravens with the number of days until he might leave King’s Landing allowed her to sort them into some sort of order while a bath was prepared for her.

She could not linger long, for Winterfell had been too long without its lady, and there were local matters as well as matters of state to be dealt with. Nevertheless, she allowed herself the time to read over his first letters – the two when he had believed her lost to him, and three more which spoke only of his love.

> _My dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _I am just now arrived in Winterfell, where I was met by thirty messages all in your hand and a further seventeen that promise to speak of matters of state. I would not have you think me behindhand, my love, but I know that I have not sent as many South as you have North. Know, nevertheless, that I think of you always._
> 
> _I have no time for lengthy tales – I am waiting for my bath, after a week on the roads from White Harbour – but I have laughed at your suggestion that we send Jaime a ladder as a wedding gift. Perhaps we should beware, however, lest he reciprocate. Although with so much to rebuild, ladders will always be welcome at Winterfell._
> 
> _I shall have to ration your letters, as there is much to do here. I am eager to read them, and shall undoubtedly find myself rushing to complete my tasks so that I may ._
> 
> _My warmest wishes embrace you, my love. While I cannot wish for this distance between us, I shall enjoy preparing our home for your arrival. This day marks a full moon since we were wed, so I know that only five remain._

She bathed, washing her hair, knowing that the people of Winterfell would expect to see her at the evening meal. There was a northern chill in the air despite the roaring fire in the twin hearths in her chamber, and she was glad for the fur-lined cloak which she donned over her shift as her ladies combed her hair and fanned it over her shoulders to help it to dry. A small plate of food, including her favourite apple turnovers, was brought to her chamber; the travel had left her tired but nevertheless hungry.

Sansa had used her time on the boat to sew gowns in a style that would befit the Queen in the North. Although tonight’s meal would not be a formal occasion, she felt it important to show herself to her people, so had her handmaids unpack her trunks to find the gowns – and the matching tunics and jackets which she had prepared for her Lord Husband, which were to be stored in a separate clothing press. She chose a gown of deep charcoal, on which she had embroidered a white direwolf’s head upon the left side of the bodice. The gown was heavy and fitted, with a practical high neck and bell-shaped skirt which ended at her ankles, but she had tempered the deep grey colour with a collar of fine silvery grey silk that wrapped about her neck. The sleeves were fitted closely for warmth, but a short matching cloak hung from her shoulders and fell to her waist, softening the line of the gown. Gently flared, it was lined in the same silvery silk and swirled about her as she moved. Sansa had a handmaiden carry her own warm cloak to her seat at the high table; she would need it in the great hall of Winterfell, but wished to be seen in her Northern gown. She shivered a little as she moved through the keep, noting the signs of damage done both by the large armies that had been garrisoned there and by the armies of the dead.

The people of Winterfell cheered to see their Lady return, and cheered again at the news that she was to be their Queen. Representatives of the northern Houses – such as remained – had been sent for, but Maester Wolkan had advised them to wait a sevenday or more before travelling to Winterfell, lest they unduly interrupt their own rebuilding efforts. Sansa retired early, still tired from her journey, but took a moment to prepare some messages to be despatched on the morrow.

> _My dear Brienne,_
> 
> _I have today arrived at Winterfell – a surprisingly empty-feeling Winterfell, with the armies and bannermen gone. There is a great deal to be done here and I am not at all sure where to start. I think that you will understand when I confess you that I miss Tyrion terribly – and think to see him around every corner. I console myself that there are but five months until he is free to come to me here._
> 
> _I thought of you on your wedding day, and look forward to reading Tyrion’s tales of the celebrations. He has sent so many ravens that I must ration them a little, lest I neglect my own duties._
> 
> _I do not know when you will receive this letter, but I shall send it with a raven to Casterly Rock where I trust that your welcome will be as affectionate as my own here in Winterfell._
> 
> _Please give my regards to Ser Jaime – to His Grace, I suppose, or to my good-brother – there are so many titles. Perhaps, if you would, you might ask him to tell me more of my lord husband’s likes, so that I might be sure that Winterfell is ready to welcome him._
> 
> _With my fondest wishes_
> 
> _Sansa_

> _My dearest brother Jon,_
> 
> _I am safely arrived in Winterfell, which would welcome a visit from you whenever you can be spared from your duties._
> 
> _Your loving sister, Sansa._

> _Dearest Bran,_
> 
> _I am safely arrived in Winterfell, where I look forward to welcoming my lord husband when his commitment to you has been completed._
> 
> _Your loving sister, Sansa_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s 93 ravens – 4 more in this chapter.  
It’s DAY 38. More Sansa in the next chapter.


	18. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has a lie-in

Sansa woke late the next morning, the sun already high in the sky, cocooned in her warm feather bed. Her handmaidens had been into her room, she could tell, as the fire was blazing in the hearth and the metal buckets that she used to heat her washing-water had been set in front of it. She stretched languidly, enjoying the warmth and comfort of her own home, hearing the sound of carts and animals from the courtyard below.

Her handmaiden Ketta bustled in, carrying a pile of clean shifts that had clearly been laundered since their return the previous day. The older woman had not come to King’s Landing with her, preferring to stay at Winterfell with her three nearly-grown children and the two who had not survived the battle against the armies of the dead.

“Oh! My lady – Your Grace, I mean. Just let me put these down and I shall fetch you some breakfast. I shan’t be a moment. And welcome home to Winterfell. We have missed you.”

Sansa smiled and sat up, then caught herself as an unexpected wave of dizziness passed over her.

“I must be more tired than I thought, from the journey,” she said.

“Never you mind my dear, it takes some of us that way,” said Ketta understandingly. Sansa frowned. She did not remember Ketta travelling beyond Winterfell, let alone to King’s Landing.

“Let me get you something to nibble on, and you’ll be right as ever,” the maid said, hurrying to Sansa’s solar and returning with a plate of bread. “I know that you usually like an egg and cheeses in the morning, my duck, but you’d be best to start with this, at least until the sickness passes.”

Sansa blinked up at her in puzzlement. “I’m sure that I am not unwell, just a little tired and dizzy from the travel.”

Ketta’s mouth fell open and a look of annoyance crossed her face. “I should have known better than to send you to King’s Landing with nobody but those silly girls,” she said with a scowl. “Why it’s as plain as eggs.”

“_‘It’_ is not, however, as plain as dry bread,” said Sansa, a little more sharply than she had intended. “Speak plainly, Ketta.”

Ketta snapped her mouth shut and bobbed a curtsey. “It’s just that – my lady, you have been travelling for a full moon from King’s Landing –” Sansa nodded as the woman continued, “but – well – I unpacked your trunks last night and your rags are still –”

A dawning joy spread across Sansa’s face. It had been twenty nine days since her marriage to Tyrion and there had been no sign of her moonblood, which had been due some thirteen days after the marriage; with the fuss of her travel, she had forgotten to count.

“Now don’t you worry my dear,” Ketta said kindly. “Just lie back and rest a little, and you’ll feel better in a trice. The girls said that you were wed, all right and tight, so there are no troubles there.”

“I had not thought that it would come so quickly,” Sansa said blankly, “we were barely wed before I had to leave. But I have been travelling and --”

“Well travelling has never taken you that way before my duck,” the woman said, “and a babe knows its own time. Now I’ll wait here to make sure you’re alright as you pop behind the screen here to use the chamber pot and give yourself a little wash, and then I’ll leave you to have a nice rest.”

Sansa was grateful for the woman’s support – the dizziness had passed, but her head was in a whirl. She was awash with emotions – excitement of course, and a touch of nervousness, sadness that her mother was not there to share the moment with her, eagerness to tell Tyrion at once, anxiety over his reaction – and an overwhelming relief to have someone as sensible, practical and knowledgeable as Ketta by her side.

> _My dearest Tyrion, _
> 
> _I am with child._

No, that would not do.

> _My lord husband,_
> 
> _The seeds of your regard are strong._

Sansa shuddered. That would not do either.

> _My love,_
> 
> _Our union has been blessed by the Mother_

Perhaps telling her lord might wait a while, at least until she found the words to do it. Instead, she turned to the letters that the ravens had brought her.

> _My beloved,_
> 
> _I am taking some time for myself this morn, and reading some more of your letters. I confess to shedding a tear at your tale of Arya’s departure, and laughing at your suggestion that Ser Jaime should never be permitted near a shop. Even when we are apart, you can see that you fill me with emotion._
> 
> _You say that you fancy that my perfume lingers. I wonder, beloved, whether it will survive the journey south. I have sprayed it upon this letter, and trust that enough may remain that you might be reminded of me._
> 
> _You write of travelling to Tarth and thence to the Stormlands with Lord Gendry. Should I send your letters there, I wonder? It has been more than three sevendays; I trust that you have returned to King’s Landing. I did laugh at your suggestion that the Maesters must be petitioned for more ravens; I shall have to speak with Maester Wolkan on the matter, although he tells me that we have forty seven more than we had a mere five sevendays ago._
> 
> _I have been lazy enough, my love; I must take myself to the Great Hall and see what is being and must be done. I long for your company now in particular, and must keep myself occupied lest I take to moping._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess Bran did know what he was talking about, after all.  
Four letters (although three weren’t sent) makes 1 raven. That’s 94.  
This was Day 39.


	19. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Lady Mary have a chat.

The Pennylover had not known of Tyrion’s place in the library, but Lady Mary Mertyns was no slouch. She found him there the morning after Raymund Connington’s arrest.

“I can’t like what that young man did last night,” she said, settling herself onto a chair and resting her hands on the walking stick that she affected – Tyrion was confident that she did not need it. “Nevertheless, it rids you of a problem.”

Tyrion nodded slowly. There was nothing to be gained in affecting ignorance, and he fancied that Lady Mary had rather more to add.

She proved him correct almost immediately. “I like the new fellow.”

Tyrion breathed a sigh of relief. “Lord Gendry is a good –”

“Oh I don’t mean our new lord,” she said abruptly. “He’s a good lad and will do well enough here in the Stormlands. He has a look of his father. No, I meant the man who arrived yesterday – Ser Bronn? I was disposed to like him anyway when he refused Highgarden – my nephew has had enough to bear in his life – but he tells an amusing tale. I have a mind to help him.”

Tyrion wondered where to start. “Help him?”

She nodded. “You find him a snug keep, and I shall find him a wife to keep him in line. One who will know when to turn a blind eye and when to rein him in. My niece Desmera should do nicely.”

“Your –”

“Well, I suppose that she is not technically my niece. Some sort of well-removed cousin, I imagine. Her grandfather was my cousin – Olenna’s elder brother. She has Margaery’s looks, although I fancy Margaery always had a slight edge there, and a substantial dowry. Poor girl never married because the wars came - and all the local boys were too afraid of her to get close. She’s been managing The Arbor since she was twenty; I should think she’d be glad to get away.”

“You have a niece –” said Tyrion slowly – “who looks like Margaery Tyrell, has never married, has a substantial dowry – and has been running one of the best vineyards on Westeros. And you think she might marry Ser Bronn.”

Lady Mary nodded. “It will do her good to move away from the rest of the family. Let her brothers settle the Arbor between them, and give her a fresh start. She will be a good match –”

“My lady, I do not doubt it. I am merely – surprised – that you would think Ser Bronn a fit husband for her.”

She chuckled. “It is plain as the nose on your face –” she paused, peering at him. “_**Is** _there a nose on your face?”

His lips quirked. “Less, certainly, than there was before.”

She shrugged. “A rogue is good for a spirited girl,” she said. “He will keep her on her toes – as she will keep him on his. I sent for her to come here before I set off; she should be here in the next day or two. I had her in mind for our young lord Gendry, but I think that this Ser Bronn will suit her better.”

Tyrion looked at her warily. “And this nephew you mentioned?”

She stared at him in astonishment.

> _Dearest Sansa, I was never more astonished. How did we all forget Willas Tyrell? Lady Mary tells me he continues at Highgarden. Ser Bronn never travelled there, so nobody thought to tell him that the boy – man now, I suppose – still held the castle. They simply passed all the problems on to him until he relinquished any rights he may have had. After all the kings and queens, it never occurred to them to simply let Bran know that there was already a lord at Highgarden._
> 
> _I asked Lady Mary what they had intended to do if Ser Bronn had taken up residence. She waved a hand at me. “It’s a big place,” she said. I did not quite dare to question her further._
> 
> _What a shame that there is nobody in King’s Landing able to see all of Westeros from their chair, who might have known that Willas Tyrell was alive and in Highgarden._

> _From His Grace, King Bran the Raven, to his Hand, Lord Tyrion Lannister._
> 
> _Sarcasm ill becomes you. I shall write to Lord Willas forthwith._

> _From Lord Tyrion Lannister to His Grace, King Bran the Raven._
> 
> _And spying on your sister’s mail – particularly before it is written – ill becomes you, Your Grace._
> 
> _Do give Lord Willas my regards._

Tyrion’s regard for Lady Mary only increased when he saw her set to matchmaking with gusto. She was more subtle about it than he had imagined, summoning people to her with increasingly flimsy excuses, but never attempting to pair them together. “I’m sounding out the lie of the land,” she said. “I have a couple of grandsons that I’d like to throw into the mix. And it doesn’t do to breed ‘em to closely. We had a couple of two-headed sheep after a spot of that.” She peered at him suspiciously. “Your wife’s no relation, though. And I hear she’s as tall as they come.”

Tyrion chuckled. “My good-sister is far taller than my wife,” he said.

Lady Mary huffed. “Off with you now. I’m expecting Hugh Buckler any moment. I’d like to see him settled before we leave.”

> _And so I left, love, dismissed from my own library – or from my own desk, at least. I wandered up to the bee room – all cleared now, although it smells quite delightful. I believe I shall order a plaque for the wall, to commemorate the moment._
> 
> _By the way, your brother has been snooping on our correspondence – although I believe it was only once. If I am fair, he was quite justified IN THAT MOMENT ALONE._
> 
> _Perhaps I shall write such letters as he will not wish to read._
> 
> _But I must stop tormenting him, lest he snoop once more on our private correspondence._

> _My dear Jaime,_
> 
> _You will recall, I am certain, a night just outside Winterfell, when I was induced to offer Highgarden to Ser Bronn. Being ever-graceful in your rare victories, I am convinced that you will also recall attempting to talk me out of that decision – a course of action, I will remind you, that almost cost you an ear._
> 
> _Dearest brother, I write to tell you that you missed one all-important argument. The two words, in fact, that might have convinced me to approach the problem from another angle._
> 
> _Those words? Willas. Tyrell._
> 
> _I have been speaking with Lady Mary, who deigned to share this information with me today. Those merchants who have been hounding Bronn? The supply issues and land management problems? Lady Mary did not say it in so many words, but I believe them to have been a campaign designed to frighten Ser Bronn away._
> 
> _It appears that he is to be rewarded for his decision. Lady Mary has taken over my erstwhile matchmaking (I believe the entire population of Storm’s End would sigh in relief, if they only knew) and has sent for a grand niece of some sort. The girl apparently has been managing the family’s vineyards in The Arbor, as well as managing the Redwyne household. She is well-dowered, and according to Lady Mary she looks like Margaery Tyrell._
> 
> _Poor Bronn does not stand a chance._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And 5 Ravens makes 99.  
Also Day 39.
> 
> I have come to the end of what I had written ahead. I *hope* to still have something ready for tomorrow night. Inspiration and enthusiasm have struck, but I am battling a massive work deadline.


	20. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matters in the Stormlands are nearly settled.

The following day was a busy one at Storm’s End. In the morn, the assembled lords and ladies swore their fealty to Lord Gendry and to King Bran. Lady Mary was the first – “age before beauty,” she cackled.

“Age before manners,” Tyrion heard Ser Davos mumble. Ruthlessly, he suppressed his grin.

The various lords and ladies followed – not only the heads of houses, but their children and heirs as well. Tyrion had Ser Bronn swear, as well, although he had not yet been told of his good fortune. He was followed by the members of Gendry’s household: his Castellan, Ser Gilbert and his Lady Housekeeper Lady Fell, followed by all the servants. The last person to offer their fealty was Edric Storm. He knelt first to Gendry, who named him brother and bade him rise, and then to Tyrion, as Bran’s representative.

Tyrion smiled at the young man. “Arise, Edric Baratheon, Lord of Fawnton.” Kerron Gower shouted with joy. “We shall speak later,” Tyrion promised, as the young man rose and turned, dazed, to return to his adopted family.

Lastly, Gendry turned and knelt before Tyrion.

“Do you swear to be a faithful lord of the Stormlands,” asked Tyrion, “keeping these lands safe, protecting their people, and upholding the laws of the King?”

“I do so swear,” said Gendry solemnly.

“Then in the name of King Brandon the Raven, I charge you to do so as Lord Protector of this realm.” – and there were further cheers from those assembled.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, Lord Staedmon and Lady Alynne were wed. “Why lay on a feast when there is already one prepared?” Lady Mary was heard to mutter to the Evenstar.

> _They both looked happy, dearest. I was a little surprised – but not everyone can find their true love, as we did. And if they must settle, at least each will get what they want from the match. There was no bedding ceremony, but there might as well have been – he had his hand in her bodice before they were out of the door, the randy old goat. The lady was not protesting._
> 
> _We shall bide here for one or two days more, until most of this motley crowd have left, then travel to King’s Landing – by road, rather than by boat. It will take a considerable time, my love, before I willingly set foot on the deck of a boat once again._

True to his word, Tyrion spoke with Edric Baratheon after the midday meal. For now, he stressed that the young man would not be an heir to the Lord Protectorate of the Stormlands; nor might he expect to inherit Storm’s End. That these things might come to pass if Gendry remained unwed was something Tyrion preferred not to reveal at this stage. Instead, he spoke of the responsibilities that would come with Lordship of Fawnton, and of his plans to install a caretaker there until Edric would come of age. The young man asked some sensible questions about the size of his hall and the number of people that it supported; Tyrion was impressed.

He sent for Lord and Lady Gower when they were done, and young Kerron also. “I thought,” he said when they arrived, “that you might like to tell the boys of our plans.”

Lady Gower smiled gently at them, drawing a letter from her sleeve. “My dears, the King has himself invited you to visit for a time, to train with his men at arms. He writes that Ser Podrick Payne, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, will take on some of your training himself.”

The boys’ jaws fell open. Kerron was the first to recover. “Did you hear that, Edric? We are to travel to King’s Landing and train with the Lord Commander himself!”

Edric was more careful of his manners. He bowed to Tyrion; “I fancy that this was your doing, my lord. I thank you.”

“It is not I but your Lord brother whom you must thank,” said Tyrion, sounding for all the world like his own grandsire. He wondered when he had become so pompous.

“Come along Edric,” called Kerron impatiently. “We must practise with our swords if we are to train with the King’s men.”

With a smile and a nod for Lord and Lady Gower, Edric allowed himself to be led away.

As a Lord Protector rather than a King, Gendry did not require a small council of his own. With Ser Davos and Tyrion, he met with representatives of each of the Houses of the Stormlands, discussing their issues and identifying opportunities to assist them. At his suggestion, Lady Fell also attended those meetings, although she sat to one side and kept her eyes on her needlework. Davos chuckled after one meeting that she must have embroidered a summary of the discussions into her piece, she had such a great deal to say afterwards.

They sent, too, for Ser Bronn, offering him the lordship of Gallowsgrey. “It is more Keep than Great house,” Davos explained, “but it is a very pleasant size and the farmlands about it are rich. There is some suggestion that the land might even sustain a vineyard.”

Tyrion broke in to this pre-arranged description. “Then it is fortunate that Lady Desmera will be here any day; she might be able to provide Bronn with some advice.” He fixed a stern eye on the former sellsword. “But you are to remember that, as much as she has been running the vineyards at The Arbor for the past five years or more, she is a lady and is to be treated as such. She is coming to visit her aunt, not to advise us on agricultural matters.”

He suppressed a smile at the look of interest on Bronn’s face, turning to Gendry and winking. “I have assured Lady Mary that you will gladly provide Lady Desmera with transport home to The Arbor, or to King’s Landing if she wishes to look there for a husband.”

Ser Davos chuckled. “With a dowry such as hers, I do not expect there to be a great deal of looking required.”

He turned back to Bronn, as though he had only just remembered that he was there. “But that’s as maybe. Lord Bronn, Gallowsgrey is yours, and Lord Gendry has bees for you also.”

Bronn looked bemused.

> _My sweetling, I begin to understand what made Ser Davos such a successful smuggler. An onlooker could not have known that we had practised the entire conversation this morning as we broke our fast. It would not do to tell Bronn that we have found him a bride; we must entice him._
> 
> _Many of our older guests are to depart on the morrow, with the younger ones staying another day at least. Several of them are to journey with me to King’s Landing. I shall be surrounded by enthusiasm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three ravens, including the one Bran sent Lady Gower. That's 102 so far.
> 
> Mor e from me next week. Have a marvellous weekend! xx


	21. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Winterfell, Sansa is starting to catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timing of updates will be a little tricky this week as life is shooting me in the foot. Please be patient xx  
I hope you will enjoy this chapter, and the last-minute addition <3

> _My beloved husband,_
> 
> _I have eaten the Winter tubers._

Sansa scowled, crumpling the page and throwing it into the fire. Would Tyrion even recognise that expression, or was it unique to the North?

> _Dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _The wheat is sprouting, as am I._

There, that should be plain enough. Or would it? What if he misunderstood, or if he thought that she was telling him that the child would be a girl? Or a boy?

Or what if he believed that damp had got into the grain stores? She had heard of a house where that had happened. They had baked bread with contaminated grain; only a handful of servants, who had been fed the previous day’s leftovers, had survived. The residents had believed that the spirits of Summer had come, and had run naked into the snow. They had been discovered some two weeks later, their bodies frozen quite solid – but with smiles on their faces, or so the story told.

She crumpled that page as well. Perhaps it was easier to bide a time before she told her lord their glad tidings.

> _My dearest husband,_
> 
> _I am still reading over your letters. I shall treasure them, and shall re-read them when I am missing you the most._
> 
> _I enjoyed your tales of the voyage to Tarth, as little as you yourself enjoyed the voyage. I could quite imagine you grumbling to Ser Davos, Ser Podrick and Lord Gendry, although I think that you were secretly enjoying yourself all the while._
> 
> _You write of your hopes for Lord Gendry, which I share. He will hold the Stormlands for Bran._
> 
> _And you write of Jaime’s and Brienne’s wedding. You write so evocatively, my love – I did enjoy your story of the knitted items. Mayhap I shall also take up knitting in the coming months._

There, that was clear enough, was it not?

> _I confess, I should have liked to know a little more of Brienne’s gown than simply that it was long – but I shall take that up in a raven to Casterly Rock._
> 
> _My love, your last raven from Tarth has caused me to shed a tear or three of my own. It saddens my heart to think of you alone and lonely. You wrote of 159 days but there are only 137 remaining until you may leave King’s Landing. I trust that the time will pass quickly for us both. My love and thoughts will be with you, even though I cannot._

She looked hesitantly at the pile of paperwork that awaited her. Surely one more letter would not hurt, before she attended to the business of the North.

> _My dearest Brienne,_
> 
> _Tyrion has written me of your wedding day, although parts of his description are lacking. I long to hear what you and Ser Jaime wore to exchange your promises to one another. I dreamed that you wore a long ivory gown with gold embroidery around the neck and hem and proceeding down the sleeves, with a red outer cloak similarly hemmed in gold, and bound with clasps in the form of lions. You were stunning; I shall attach a sketch for your handmaidens, should they care to follow it. Ser Jaime was beside you in cloth of gold – very Lannister._
> 
> _Winterfell is much colder than King’s Landing, and I fear that I was a little spoiled by our time in the south. I must re-accustom myself to the layers and furs that are required here. I confess, I quite look forward to sewing clothing again – for my lord husband as well as for myself. I would not have Tyrion become chilled when he arrives here._
> 
> _Perhaps you might ask Ser Jaime whether there might be some old items of clothing that Tyrion left at Casterly Rock? I shall have his things sent here, but it would help me to start with a shirt or jerkin, to ensure that the clothing I make will fit him._

Folding the two letters and writing their directions on the outside, Sansa called for a page to take them to the Ravenmaster. She had already warned her people that she would dine in her Solar; her absence in the Great Hall meant that the people would expect simpler fare, which was easier to manage with their restricted stores. She planned to join them but two times in any sevenday, allowing for more raucous evenings in her absence and also allowing her to stick to the simpler food that her rebellious belly preferred.

Sighing, she reached for the other stack of letters that awaited her – requests from her bannermen, and questions about inheritance of halls in the north. A letter from her brother caught her eye:

> _Dear Sister,_
> 
> _You will be in Winterfell when you receive this. I am well, and am learning the ways of the people of all parts of Westeros. Ser Podrick has taken on the mantle of Lord Commander with aplomb. We saw King Jaime and Queen Brienne for a night as they set off for the West; they will still be travelling when you receive this letter. Your husband is still in the Stormlands with Lord Gendry, but will have departed Storm’s End by the time you could send a raven there. He is well and is managing our interests there. Our uncle has been assisting me with the care of the city while Lord Tyrion is required elsewhere._
> 
> _I wish you a long and happy reign. I would be grateful if you would pack up some of my clothing to send to King’s Landing. In particular, there was a brown tunic that I liked very much, although one of the sleeves was a little torn._
> 
> _Your loving brother._

Sansa smiled. Despite his hint, she would not repair his tunic for him; he had more than enough servants for that now. But she would have his things sent to him, and would send him a linen shirt embroidered with a white direwolf.

> _My dearest Bran,_
> 
> _I have received your letter, and will send a trunk of your things with the next wagons that leave for the south. I am glad to hear that both you and my husband are well. I look forward to the close alliance between our realms._
> 
> _Your loving sister._

A letter from Yara Greyjoy pointed to her intention to send men to the market at Moat Caillin; a letter from her Uncle Edmure promised the same. He could not resist a suggestion that she would have done better to allow him to host the market at Riverrun, where his wife and child were now living.

> _I plan to return there once I can depart King’s Landing, but of course I cannot leave while my dear nephew has need of my advice._

Sansa suppressed a smile at her uncle's temerity. Still, it was good that he felt that he was contributing to the realm, particularly if it kept him from fretting that he had been - as he saw it - passed over in favour of his crippled nephew.

She would be more comfortable - for the sake of her uncle, her brother and her husband - when she knew that Tyrion had returned to King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six ravens! 108!  
It's Day 40
> 
> Can we talk about Gwen and Nik wearing their Lannister gear to the Emmys? First formal court after their coronation, hello.  
I did not adore Sophie's dress - I thought she looked amazing but the dress was perhaps a little too simple for the red carpet.  
But this photo is everything.  
https://cdn.pinkvilla.com/files/styles/contentpreview/public/emmys-2019-game-of-thrones-gwendoline-christie.jpg?itok=NuF_yfWB


	22. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa settles back in at Winterfell

Ketta bustled into Sansa’s room, carrying a plate of toasted bread on a tray.

“Rise and shine, my duck, I’ve brought you a little something to nibble to just take the edge away.”

Sansa groaned. Her brothers had tickled her feet with feathers once, when she was a child, Robb holding one foot and Jon the other, while she had squealed and wriggled and sobbed. She had run off to tell her Septa, and they had been punished – Jon more so than Robb, she remembered with shame – but she had secretly been disappointed that they had never done it again. When they tried it with Arya, she had vowed retribution; she had hidden a family of frogs in their beds a sevenday later, when the boys had already forgotten their threats. Now it felt as though those frogs were tickling her belly with a feather – from the inside. She heaved a little at the thought, reaching for the basin that Ketta had placed at her bedside.

And then Ketta was there, plumping her pillows and passing her the bread and a cup of water, which she felt she could never drink.

Sansa went to wave the woman away, but she continued to hold out the cup.

“Just a couple of little sips, then take a nibble on the bread. It won’t make it better, but it will settle your belly.”

Sansa duly sipped, nibbled, and sipped again.

Ketta crossed to the window, pulling the curtain to reveal the cold grey daylight.

“It will be another chilly day, that’s for sure, but then, what do we have in the North but chilly days, at this season? I’ll get you your nice woollen stockings and your boots with the squirrel fur inside, and a nice shawl to wrap inside your cloak.”

Sansa frowned. “I do not think I can –”

“Now I’ll stop you there, my duck, queen or no queen. We’ve all been where you are and the trick is just to get on with things. You’re not the first woman to bear a babe, and nor will you be the last. Take it from one who knows, you’ll be better to keep going about your business than quacking yourself. Why, I remember your lady mother with three of you climbing on her while she rinsed her mouth and went about her day.”

Sansa nodded, a little ashamed.

“It won’t hurt if you take a little nap here and there, or take it a little easy, but you need to get on with things. You don’t want those men saying that you’re not up to the task, lovey, and you know that some of them will try that nonsense. So you look after yourself and that baby of yours, and let’s keep this between us women until that husband of yours is here.” There was sense in Ketta’s suggestion. Six months would give Sansa time to establish herself and her rule, before Tyrion arrived to support her. It was essential that the people of the North accept her as their queen even after the thrill of the fight against the Night King had faded – especially as Winter showed no signs of fading and their food stores were lower than Sansa would like.

Moving carefully, she swung her legs around and sat on the edge of her bed, steadying herself before she moved behind the privacy screen. On its other side, she could hear Ketta moving around, airing her bed and preparing her clothing.

Sansa visited all the parts of Winterfell that day, from the kitchens to the armoury and stables, the library and great hall, and the battlements, where she drew great gulping breaths of the clean, crisp air. She had nearly been overcome by the cooking smells in the kitchens and the smells in the stables, so it was pleasant to be so high above them. Afterwards, she took herself to the Godswood, where she prayed quietly, remembering her friend Theon and those who had perished there to protect Winterfell – to protect all of Westeros – from the armies of the dead. She remembered, too, her family – those who had been born Starks – Jon, Arya and Bran, now far away from her – and prayed for their safety, their health, and for a reunion with them. And she prayed for the family she had chosen – Tyrion, Brienne, and even Jaime – although even two months before she would never have imagined choosing to have anything to do with the Kingslayer who had so maimed her brother, she could not hate the man who so loved her husband and her former protector and saviour. Lastly, she prayed for the babe she carried – that the gods would make him or her strong and well-loved.

When she arose, she looked about herself, allowing the terrors of the long night to slip away. She imagined a Winterfell of spring, with wildflowers growing alongside the paths, fat bees buzzing about them, blossom on the fruit trees and soft berries in the glass gardens. She hoped that that would be the Winterfell her child would be born to, that he or she would know the warmth of the summer sun, the change of seasons that came with the rhythms of the moon and not the unnatural cold that had stayed for so long.

Straightening her shoulders, she strode back inside the keep, ready to set to work.

\---ooooo---

In her solar, Sansa ruthlessly set aside the pile of yet-unread letters from Tyrion to read the reports that she had commissioned – the levels of supplies, and items that might be traded. With the preparations for war, tasks had been neglected and there was a great deal to do. She noted that there were stocks of fleeces – perhaps the wool could be spun and woven to make cloth and blankets – and a surplus of tanned leather that could be sold to the merchants who were travelling north for the market. There was a surfeit of ore, also, from the silver mines to the north of Winterfell – the smiths had smelted dragonglass rather than silver, but perhaps they might prepare a stock before the merchants arrived. Making some notes to that effect, she smiled as a knock sounded at the door and a young girl brought a plate with some lemon cakes, nuts, and a pot of mint tea.

“If you please, my lady-Grace, Ketta told me to bring you some food.”

Sansa smiled at the girl, making room at the table. Her belly had not troubled her as she worked, she realised. Perhaps there was sense in her maid’s words.

As she nibbled at a lemon cake, she took up the next of Tyrion’s letters. Perhaps it was not the best one to start with –

> _My lord,_
> 
> _I have been reading of your journey to the Stormlands, and sharing in your distress. I confess, I felt quite nauseous myself to read of your journey._

It was no announcement, but perhaps it would prepare him a little.

> _I laughed to hear you tell of your pomposity when you arrived at Storm’s End. I can only imagine how it must have been received. _
> 
> _I was sorry to hear of the troubles in the Stormlands. As you know, in the North we have also suffered the effects of war, and there is a shortage of men. If we were together, my love, I believe that I would tease you for this, but I am missing you so deeply that I can not suggest even in jest that I would choose anyone but you. I dream sometimes that you are beside me, and wake to find you far from me. Know, my love, how dearly I love you and how greatly I long to have you at my side._

Brushing her cheek with the feather of her pen, she drew another page toward herself. She did not believe that this letter, however unsolicited, would be unwelcome.

> _From Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, to Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord Protector of the Stormlands, Greetings._

That seemed a little formal, so she added another line:

> _Dear Lord Gendry._
> 
> _My husband has written me, a little, of the troubles that you have found in the Stormlands. He tells me that he admires the way that you have faced them and believes that your stewardship will bring the people together._
> 
> _I would thank you for your hospitality towards Tyrion, but also send you my very kindest wishes and the friendship of the North. _
> 
> _Please remember me to Ser Davos. I do not believe that he will be sorry to be in a warmer clime than Winterfell._

After folding the letters and writing a direction on the outside, Sansa called for a page to take them to the Maester, then turned to survey her chambers. There were changes to be made before Tyrion’s arrival, and she did not wish to be behindhand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 2 ravens today because Sansa was busy! 110.
> 
> It’s Day 41. In A Second Chance, Jaime and Brienne have made it to the West, where they are hanging with Ser Addam Marbrand. (Chapter 70).
> 
> One more Sansa chapter, then back to the Stormlands.
> 
> I’m having a very busy week, so I apologise for slowing down with my updates. It’s so frustrating to know where the story goes next and not have time to write it! If only we had mind melds or something.
> 
> Hoping to update on Friday.


	23. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa settles back in to life at Winterfell

On the fourth day since her return to Winterfell, Sansa awoke with a sense of comfort. It was good to be back in Winterfell, good to be planning for her coronation and beyond – for her life with Tyrion and with their child – their children, if the gods so favoured them – good to have put the years of war and struggle behind her. She felt settled and safe – at least until she rolled over and her child took exception to the previous evening’s meal.

When Ketta came in, Sansa was seated on the edge of her bed looking pale and wan, the covered basin beside her filled with the evidence of her condition. She smiled ruefully at the handmaiden; “It seems I should take more care when I roll over.”

Taking herself behind the privacy screen, Sansa rinsed her mouth carefully and rubbed tooth powder across her teeth, before washing and dressing for the day in a gown of deep green. She was grateful, she thought, for the fur-lined boots that would keep her feet warm as she moved about the castle; although it was heated by the natural springs beneath the ground, this served more to reduce the chill rather than to provide the sort of heat that occurred naturally further south. 

She had planned to spend the day indoors, supervising the household. Bran’s things must be packed to send to King’s Landing; Arya’s and Jon’s chambers should be cleaned – but she had decided that the rooms should be kept for them and kept ready for their return. Fires would be lit weekly and their mattresses turned, although the beds themselves would not be made up. Bran’s, by contrast, would become a guest chamber; he had told her that he would not return to Winterfell. Other chambers, so recently occupied by Daenerys and her advisors, as well as by Sansa’s own advisors, Brienne and Lord Royce, could be cleaned and emptied of all but their furnishings, the furs and linens stored in one of the many warm cupboards that would prevent them becoming damp and mildewed. The mattresses were to be carried to a single room, where they would be moved about and a fire would be lit each week to keep them fresh. Her mother had taught her the ways of household management from the time she was very young; such decisions were automatic to her.

After setting her household staff to these chores – once, she thought, they would have done them without prompting, but after so many disrupted years these simple household rhythms had been lost – she turned to the lists of changes that she wished to initiate for her own chambers. She took herself to the carpenter’s workshop where Young Jon and his grandson Tall Jon laboured. Old Jon’s sons Small Jon, Morten and Barry had been lost to the Long Night, their enthusiasm and honour carrying them further than their skill.

“I had thought you long retired,” she said after she greeted Young Jon, who had been old even when her father was a lad, or so he had said.

The carpenter shrugged. “There had to be someone here to look after the place. And Tall Jon may be big but he’s still but a lad. He needs someone to keep an eye on him, make sure he measures before he cuts.”

Behind him, Sansa could see Tall Jon – a man of perhaps thirty years – grin wryly. Like so many at Winterfell, he was scarred by battle – one of his legs had been replaced by a peg of wood below the knee – but he was nevertheless cheerful and clearly devoted to his grandfather. She showed them the plans she had drawn up – for a larger bed, and for several small sets of steps that could be positioned around the castle, to help Tyrion to climb onto the bed and onto the taller chairs in the great hall. She discussed, too, her idea for a chair with a step built into it, to place at his desk in the library, and for a set of drawers to hold his correspondence more neatly than he had been wont to keep it in King’s Landing.

“There is no hurry,” she said, “my husband will not be here for at least five months, but I wish for the furnishings to be ready for his arrival.”

Young Jon nodded. “We will be needing wood,” he said slowly. “Many of the trees hereabouts were burned.”

“I shall send to King’s Landing,” Sansa said, “to ask where to obtain the best timber.”

“That’s simple,” said Young Jon. “We’ll get cedar for your chests, my lady – it keeps the moth out a treat – there’s plenty of that in the hills hereabouts. You’ll want stout oak for the bed frames, the chairs and the desk – it will last hundreds of years, if you treat it right. The strongest timber comes from the great forests in the Stormlands. That’s what we need for your furnishings. But the prettiest timber – walnut and cherry, for the flourishes and decoration – that comes from the West.”

He wiped his arm across his face. “There are other woods, of course – some from Dorne, they say – but they don’t last the way the others will. They’re soft, and don’t handle so well.”

Sansa smiled. “I shall write to Lord Gendry, and to King Jaime and Queen Brienne in the West, to ask their assistance in finding a reliable trader who can supply us. Perhaps we can also trade some cedar wood?”

Tall Jon nodded. “Cedar is too soft for arrows, my lady, so we still have a good supply. See if they can supply timber that has already been dried and cut. It’s faster for us to work with, and will last better than the green wood.”

Sansa returned to her solar, sending a maid for Mikkel Smallwood, the leader of the men at arms who had returned with her from King’s Landing. A reliable man and a strong fighter, she wished to name him the Captain of her personal guard.

While she waited, she took the next of Tyrion’s letters. In it, he wrote of his fears for the children they might one day have – that they might, like him, be small of stature, or that she might not survive their birth. His fear was evident, and for the first time she considered whether she might in fact wait to tell him of the babe she carried. She chuckled, though, when she reached the end of the letter – it had been sent through King’s Landing, and her brother had clearly read the letter for scrawled at the end, in his almost-unreadable script, was a brief note from the King:

> _Dear sister, your babes will be fine. Your husband is overanxious. I would tell him not to worry but I fear it would make him more fretful._

Unsure of what to write and how to allay Tyrion’s fears, she drew a new page toward herself and began to write.

> _My dear Brienne,_
> 
> _I trust that you are well, and have arrived safely at Casterly Rock. _
> 
> _I am hopeful that you might assist me. Please forgive me for sending such a mundane request. My carpenters tell me that we require walnut and cherry wood – timber that has been dried and cut. They tell me that the best such timbers come from the West. Would you ask Ser Jaime whether he could recommend a merchant to assist us?_
> 
> _Winterfell feels very cold after King’s Landing, but it is good to be home. I often fancy that I might see you around a corner. Perhaps one day you and Ser Jaime will visit again,_
> 
> _With my fond wishes, Sansa._

A second letter, more direct, was despatched to Ser Davos at Storm’s End, before Sansa was interrupted by the arrival of a team of glaziers.

“If it please, Your Grace,” the foreman told her, “Your husband the Im—Lord Tyrion placed the order and bade us come North to rebuild your glass gardens. We have everything we need, but we’d be grateful for a place to stay and the loan of some furs, if you have them.”

Sansa sent a page to ask the maids to prepare a room for the men, and to fetch some sleeping furs for them. When a maid arrived, she bid her build them a fire and show them where the firewood was kept, so that they could keep their rooms warm, before the page took them to show them what remained of the glass gardens. The foreman would report to her on the following day with an update on their plans.

She reached for a pen; there were two more letters to write.

> _My dear brother,_
> 
> _Reading my correspondence now; How low you are sunk! I am certain that that is not kingly behaviour. Nevertheless, I thank you – although I have not shared my husband’s fears for this babe, it is good to know that they are unfounded. I have not yet told Tyrion, so please be circumspect._
> 
> _It is strange to be at Winterfell without my family. I have had your things sent south to you and have had Arya’s and Jon’s rooms cleaned out. Perhaps by the time they visit, and when Tyrion arrives, we will have exorcised the terrible things that have happened here._

> _Dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _The glaziers have arrived to rebuild the glass gardens. Thank you, my love; I had not arranged for this as I had intended. Perhaps by the time you reach Winterfell there will be some new growth for us to delight in._

She paused. This was not the time to tell him of their babe. Rather, it was time to tell him of the home that she was making for them, and of her gratitude at the arrival of the glaziers. She tapped her pen lightly to remove the excess ink, and began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this has been such a long time coming! I'm starting to build up my buffer again, so updates should stay regular now. Thank you all for the lovely comments, they really do make my day.
> 
> Four more ravens makes 114.  
This was Day 42. Over in the West, they’re still in Chapter 70 of A Second Chance.


	24. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the boring people leaving Storm's End, it's getting more entertaining for Tyrion.

It took a couple of days for most of the older lords to leave Storm’s End. By some three days after Gendry’s ceremony, the group that was gathered at Storm’s End had reduced in size and – to Tyrion’s thinking, at least – increased considerably in enjoyment. And if it was a trifle lowering to realise that he was now one of the elders of the party, it was perhaps more enjoyable to watch the matchmaking than to be a participant. For it was matchmaking that kept many of the families here – Lord Swann and his daughters, the Estermont family, Ser Rolland Storm. Tyrion could at least acquit Lady Allyria Dayne, Lady Errol, the Gowers and Hugh Buckler of such things; he was to take quite a party to King’s Landing. Lady Mary was working her magic in the background; he would not say that she was a witch, precisely, but things appeared to work according to her wishes. Even Tyrion found it hard to gainsay her.

> _We are become quite merry, my dearest, with the departure of many of the older lords. I am awaiting the arrival of Lady Desmera before I leave once more for King’s Landing; I trust that it will not be long until she arrives; I feel that I am neglecting my duties for your brother, although seeing Ser Bronn settled must itself be a duty._

A blushing Lady Allyria Dayne sought Tyrion out before the noonday meal, to tell him that she and Ser Andrew Estermont had reached an agreement to wed.

“Are you happy with this match?” Tyrion asked solemnly. “As a Dayne, you could look to the highest lords of the land.”

Lady Allyria’s mouth twisted. “Such as remain,” she noted with a frown. “Besides, Ser Andrew is cousin to the cousins of Lord Genry. More importantly, I believe him to be a good man and a kind one. We are not perhaps devoted to one another, but I was not devoted to Lord Beric, and I have spent these past years caring for his lands. This will be a new start for us both, and will bring hope to the people of Blackhaven.”

Tyrion nodded slowly. “If you are certain, my lady. I am certain that I can speak for my brother and my wife in promising that the West and the North will stand as your allies and friends – and for the King and Lord Gendry also.”

She smiled. “I do know that, my lord, and I thank you.”

“Will you keep the name Dondarrion,” Tyrion asked.

“I think not,” she replied, “for their time is past, and none remain of that name. I shall speak to Ser Andrew – there are already Daynes and Estermonts, so perhaps we shall devise a new name.”

“Will you be wed here, before we depart?” asked Tyrion.

Lady Allyria smiled. “I think we must. I have no patience for lengthy betrothals, as you will understand. And I would present the people of Blackhaven with their new lord on my return.”

> _Ser Aemon Estermont was overjoyed when I saw him, my dearest. He’s a bluff fellow but good-hearted, and he values and esteems his nephew greatly. Lady Allyria – and Blackhaven – is a better match than Ser Andrew might have looked for. Ser Aemon tells me that Lord Alyn is to wed one of the Swann daughters, although Ser Donnell is cautious as they have not known one another long. He worries, also, about the difference in their ages – just as your father must have worried about that between us._
> 
> _And so, we are to have more company on the road than I had expected. It seems that Lady Adeline Estermont – a lively and mischievous young woman of whom I expect great things – is to wed Hugh Buckler. I see the hand of Lady Mary Mertyns here. Lady Bridget Estermont and her daughters Lady Adeline and Lady Amelie will accompany us to King’s Landing with the Swann girls and Lord Alyn – ostensibly to pay their respects to your brother. I believe that the real reason is that Ser Aemon does not wish the matches to be undone. Meanwhile, Lady Mary’s grandson Michly has struck up a friendship with the younger boys – Edric Baratheon and Sebastion Errol in particular – and is also to join us on the journey._

A bustle in the courtyard interrupted Tyrion, so he quickly signed his name and sent his letter to the rookery. It was later when he returned to his desk, with three further messages to write – one born of duty, the other two of love.

> _Lord Edmure,_
> 
> _I would not bother His Grace with this news, but must request that chambers be prepared for a party of noble guests who will accompany me from the Stormlands. Lady Bridget Estermont and her two daughters, as well as two other young ladies, plan to spend time in King’s Landing, together with her son Lord Alyn. In addition, I shall bring a motley crew of young men to train with your new Master-of-Arms, as well as some older men who would benefit from polish and a closer relationship to the Crown. The lady in question is aunt to Lord Gendry and he freely offers any apartments that may have been set aside for her use and that of her party._
> 
> _We shall also bring about one hundred men at arms from the Stormlands for King Brandon’s personal forces. I expect that more will follow. I know that my brother spent some time in the armoury while he was in King’s Landing, but Lord Gendry tells me that he does not believe that the barracks received the same careful attention. Perhaps you could have Ser Fretas set someone to the task._
> 
> _I expect to arrive in a little over a sennight, although this depends on the size of our travelling party._

> _My dear Jaime,_
> 
> _I wrote to you, I think, of Lady Mary Mertyns’s plans for our mutual friend (if such a term may be applied to someone once sent to kill us). I write to tell you that if ever Lady Mary sets herself against you, you may give up then and there._
> 
> _Lady Desmera Redwyne arrived today at Storm’s End, looking for all the world as though she had just stepped out of a room where she had spent a day primping. I fancy that Margaery had a slight edge over her in looks, but Lady D has her manner of acting as though the entire room were watching her – which of course they do. She wore something floaty, as Margaery was wont to do, and a cutaway jacket and cloak of soft green velvet. She greeted her aunt with a low curtsey that served only to draw attention to what had until that point seemed an entirely modest neckline, and I thought Bronn’s eyes would burst from his head – for of course her arrival was timed for a time when our guests were returning from a visit to the remaining bee hives or some such nonsense. I would have suspected witchcraft if I had not seen Lady Mary’s maid hurrying away from the rookery earlier in the day, not long before Lady Mary made suspiciously exact plans to accommodate her sudden interest in apiary._
> 
> _Introductions were duly made and if Lady Desmera noticed Bronn’s admiration she did not show it, shaking his hand briskly and telling him that her aunt had told her that he had questions about winemaking. He stammered a little but managed to pull himself together, and they are to meet in the morn to discuss what must be done. She then turned away to greet the next person with nary a backward glance, but with a secretive smile that quite gave away her plans – at least to those of us privileged to know them. I really must leave for King’s Landing within a day or two, much as I would enjoy staying to watch her reel him in like a fish._
> 
> _Do give my regards to Ser Brienne. It is a true delight to know that you have found such happiness in your match. Her father has returned to Tarth with our young lord’s – and my own – best wishes and thanks._

> _My dearest Sansa,_
> 
> _Lady Mary Mertyns is a true master of manipulation. Her niece arrived today in a carefully choreographed appearance that brought Storm’s End – and especially Ser Bronn – to quite a standstill. She shares both Margaery’s looks and her low cunning – her social adeptness, I should perhaps say – and I believe we are fortunate that the Redwyne family cares little for Westerosi politics. Indeed, Lady Mary may owe a great deal to Varys – she wears a large jewelled brooch on her shoulder in the shape of a spider. I believe it is to remind us of how far her webs reach._
> 
> _If Lady Mary is Olenna’s twin, Lady Desmera is their spiritual successor. I remember, my love, how friendly you were with Margaery and I believe that you would feel the same way for Lady Desmera. Perhaps Allyria Dayne’s marriage to Ser Andrew will give Ser Bronn ideas; I am certain that Lady Desmera has a plan in train._

Tyrion set aside his pen with a chuckle. There was a great relief in being apart from the matchmaking – yet another thing to thank Sansa for, when he saw her again. Blowing a kiss through the north-facing window of his chamber, he prepared for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Six more ravens is 120. Yes, I do count the sneaky one that Lady Desmera sent her auntie from the road. Don’t judge me. It’s pertinent, and there are 220 more to go.  
This was DAY 42
> 
> Also, for those with an interest in JB, my contribution to Jaime and Brienne Appreciation Week 2019, What happens in Lounges, is two chapters in. It's a shortie - there will be 7 chapters, one for each day's prompt.


	25. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion prepares to leave for King's Landing

> _Sansa my Sansa,_
> 
> _It is late, but we depart on the morrow for King’s Landing, and I may not have the opportunity to write while we are on the road (yes, we shall eschew the dubious delights of sea travel for the steady rumble of wagons). Our party has grown beyond expectation, and we shall require many of Gendry’s resources simply to accommodate the group. Fortunately, the young men plan to travel on horseback, leaving me to share the carriages with the ladies Estermont and Gower, as well as four very **young** ladies. Remind me, my love, to never again travel without my own saddle. I plan to ride with the coachman for as long as possible, and to carry a book and a soft pillow. _
> 
> _Lady Allyria and Ser Andrew were wed today – or should I say, Lord and Lady Daynemont. It is something of a mouthful, but better than some of the other suggestions, which included Esterdaynion and Dondaynimont. Lord Gendry has agreed that they shall rule their lands together as equal partners, and that a daughter or son may inherit Blackhaven; I was happy to agree, on your brother’s behalf. I believe that they will be happy together, although I regret that they may never know the sort of love that we share. _
> 
> _Still, I had not thought to find myself so beloved and so consumed with love as I am for you, my dearest. I had not imagined that I might survive the wars, let alone that I could be looking forward to a future with one who is so far above me in every way._
> 
> _As for our other lovers, Lady Desmera and Ser Bronn – Lord Bronn, I should say – she is leading him a merry dance. She has Margaery’s knack of never stepping outside what is proper, even as she appears to promise that she might. On the surface, she divides her attention between all the men – even Gendry, although his laughter showed his lack of interest in her efforts. But it is clearly Bronn upon whom she has set her intentions – Lady Fell has been conspiring with Lady Mary and so they are seated either together or opposite one another at meals. _
> 
> _My love, perhaps these are tricks that all ladies learn at their mother’s knee, but I confess to a certain admiration of their tactics. The lady brought several vats of Arbor Gold, which is served at every meal. Various people have commented on its quality, which invites her to comment briefly on the climatic and soil conditions that contribute to the excellent vintage. Bronn is oblivious, but I have seen Lady Mary nod approvingly at those who offer such comment – I could not swear that she has put them up to it, but I would rather bet on that than believe that they are entirely spontaneous. Thus far, the lady has demonstrated her knowledge of growing conditions, of winemaking, and of yield – including the cost to produce the wine – all without putting herself forward. Meanwhile, Lady Fell has ensured that the candles are set to shine the best light upon Lady Desmera. _
> 
> _The lady affects a soft perfume with a heady undertone of spice – perhaps cinnamon or nutmeg – that remains light but lingers after she has left. I have seen Ser Bronn sniff the air as though he had caught her wafting past – Lady Mary confessed to me that she has had her handmaiden and one of the housemaids carry a scarf that has been sprayed with the scent. This ensures that the lady is never far from Bronn’s thoughts, even when she is not sketching overly complex plans for his vineyards. The battle tactics are quite something to behold, and I believe Lord Gendry may be quaking in his sturdy boots at the thought that Lady Mary might some day turn her attentions to him._
> 
> _Between ourselves, she has told me that she understands that he has an affection for Arya, and that she proposes to ‘allow the girl two years to come to her senses’ before she turns her attentions in his direction._
> 
> _Beloved, even if I am slow to write in the coming days, know that I will be thinking of you, and of the long journey that I will commence in a scant 134 days. I ache to see you again, to hold you – and yes, all that goes with that – but most of all, simply to gaze once more upon your dear, beautiful face. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 121 ravens.  
That’s Day 43.
> 
> Whose idea was it to write something for JB Week as well as this one, Em? You are definitely the stupidest Lannister. More of this in a day or two. xx


	26. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa starts to deal with running a kingdom (queendom!) rather than just a household.

> _My dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _I am stealing time to read your dear letters before I must greet the first of our market traders to arrive at Winterfell. I have the household under control here, my love, which is after all what I was trained to do. Now I must turn myself to the more serious business of ruling – which is emphatically not what I was trained to do. I feel that I am making things up at every turn, that I have little knowledge or experience on which I can rely – and there is nobody here to whom I can look for advice or reassurance. I feel quite alone and fear that I may not – can not – be the queen the north deserves. _
> 
> _It is fortunate that I have your letters to make me smile._
> 
> _You write of the sorry state of the houses of the Stormlands – it will not surprise you, I believe, to hear that the houses of the North have fared as badly. I quite dread to see who will make the journey for my coronation and to swear their allegiance to our new North – although I do not expect that I shall need your services as a matchmaker. I am sorry to read that you are finding Storm’s End so very dull, and trust that you may make a speedy return to King’s Landing. _

Sansa set down her pen and stretched her fingers, then clenched her hand into a tight ball. Rolling her shoulders in the way she had seen Ser Brienne do after training, she took a deep breath. It was time to see to her duties – to greet the first merchants and to speak with the new Captain of her guard about the patrols he wished to set.

As it transpired, she had first to deal with the glaziers. They had estimated that it would take them five sevendays at least to rebuild the glass gardens – first the frames and pipes and then the garden beds must be built, before finally the glass would be fitted. The pipes would run from Winterfell’s hot springs and warm the glasshouses, running through the bottom of the soil beds – although a furnace would be built at either end in case it was needed. In the meantime, the glaziers proposed to build a lean-to against Winterfell’s southernmost wall, to catch the sunlight. They would run temporary piping to heat the small space, where they would store the most delicate of the trees and plants they had ordered from Dorne.

“They should be here within a pair of sevendays, Your Grace,” the foreman assured her.

Sansa nodded. Their plans would extend the glass gardens so that they would not only provide herbs and soft fruits but also tree fruits – lemons, oranges and peaches – that required more warmth than was seen in the north. A separate space would hold seedlings for the kitchen garden and young saplings for the orchards until the ground was soft enough for them – cherry and apple trees, plums and other fruits that tasted of Summer even while the North could scarcely dream of Spring.

Mikkel Smallwood came to her in a hurry when she sent a page for him and accompanied her on her visit to greet the merchants. They had agreed – largely due to a shortage of trained fighters – that she would not require a guard within the walls of Winterfell, although this would change when her bannermen were called. A camping area for the merchants had been set aside just beyond the walls of Winterfell, and Mikkel would send a patrol there regularly throughout the day and night. He had raised a force of some hundred men from the surrounding areas – although most were barely trained, some two score were fighting men. He had them alternating days on watch with days of training, the more experienced men training the others at the pells.

“I’ve brought back some of the older fighters, Your Grace, and men who were injured in the great battle, as watchmen and guards. It does not take two legs to serve on the keep’s battlements – at least, not in times of peace.”

Sansa nodded. “And this – are we fully defended then?”

Mikkel snorted. “Your Grace, we are not even at half of our fighting strength – nor even one third. When your Lord Father held the castle, so the armoury records say, he had a permanent fighting force of five hundred men – now we have barely one hundred and thirty. By your leave, I will speak with the Wildlings who stayed here and see whether they might join our forces – women as well as men are trained to fight beyond the wall – but I fear that you will need to call on your bannermen once more.”

Sansa frowned. “I had hoped, after the losses –”

“You must have a full company of fighters, Your Grace.”

Sansa thought for a moment. She could send to Tyrion, ask him to recruit more men – or ask Jaime and Brienne to send a troop from the Westerlands – but the North did not take kindly to outsiders, and even less so to Lannisters. With only ten Northern Houses remaining, she would require two squads – forty men – from each House.

She sighed. This would not be a simple request.

“Captain, I would welcome your advice on how to make this request more – palatable – to my bannermen. Is there something that we might offer them in return?”

He nodded. “Your Grace, I am no knight – but I can offer training. Once our company is up to fighting strength, we can take the household guards of your bannermen and train them more formally. But it will take time, and although we follow the northern ways, I believe that some will seek the path of knighthood. If we had some northern knights here who could assist with their training, that might perhaps attract more of the young men from your noble houses.”

Sansa grinned ruefully. “There are precious few of those remaining, Captain, but I take your meaning. Perhaps –” she paused, thinking. “I shall write to King Jaime and Queen Brienne in the West and ask whether they would be willing to take on a squire from the north. It would be a gesture of good faith.”

Mikkel nodded. “It would, at that.”

> _My dear Brienne,_
> 
> _I seem to write to you daily with my problems; perhaps soon I shall have some happier news to impart._
> 
> _We seek to rebuild an army – not the ten thousand-strong army of the north, but a respectable fighting force to suppress local good-for-nothings. My new Captain of Guards suggests that a knight – or the prospect of a knighthood – might attract such younger sons as remain in the north. _
> 
> _My question is two fold. Firstly, do you know of a knight – an honourable, decent sort – who might seek to settle in the north? We have space for such a man, if they be willing to train our motley assortment of guards. And secondly, when you are settled, might you or Ser Jaime have a place for a squire from the north? I have no candidate in mind, but wish to be prepared if one should appear. _

> _My dearest Tyrion,_
> 
> _I write, for once, with a specific question for you. Do you know of a good and reliable hedge knight? Or perhaps an older man who seeks a home for his twilight years? I have appointed a Captain of my Guard, but require a Master of Arms – ideally, one who can both inspire the young men and train the older ones._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And 3 ravens makes 124.
> 
> I'm sorry this has been a bit slower than usual. I wrote something for JB Week and posted it daily, and there is only so much time for writing.
> 
> I have to travel a lot for work this month, and have an astonishing amount to get done when I am not travelling. This is inevitably going to keep my posting speed slow, which I hate. I apologise and have not forgotten about this! There is some fun stuff coming up.


End file.
